Kiss My Lips and Swear to Die
by elixirsoflife
Summary: ON HOLD: Alyssa Chamberlain is most definitely not a damsel in distress. A tale of stolen kisses, scathing remarks, boys with strangely striking smiles and a little something called growing up. [beautiful cover by aconite@tda] Winner of the Best POC Diadem 2016!
1. Unwilling Damsels

**A NOTE OF WEIGHT: I added a variation of this note originally at HPFF, partially because its tighter regulation on what's appropriate and what's not and I didn't want the validators/readers to think I support sexual assault. Under no circumstances do I and I realise that this fic needs to tread carefully to make sure that it doesn't come across that way. I've been planning to add this note here for a while, but procrastinated as I am prone to do. However, a month or so ago, I woke up to two _lovely _flames that said that my fic is too "dramatic" and "unrealistic", my MC is "unrealistically negative" and no one wants to read about her life. One of them even told me to "please learn how to write better stories". They were both Guest reviews so I vented my feelings on my tumblr (if anyone wants to see a full response, you can head over there - my tumblr url is in my bio - to see it) and I'm now adding this note for any new readers.  
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**I am going to cover sensitive issues to the best of my ability while moving the plot along. Romance will not come easily. Both Freddie and Alyssa have to develop into better people before it will. The issues will be covered in a way that teenagers do. Certain things that probably shouldn't be made a big deal out of will be treated like they are big deals while some of the more serious ****will be treated in the way that I know teenagers treat them. Teenagers = drama. If you don't like that, feel free not to read it because I'm not changing that. It'll be particularly dramatic from about CH11-15. I have no regrets about that at this current moment in time.  
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**When I first began this fic, I started with the bare bones of it i.e. the basic concept and ending with a vague idea of how I was going to get there. It wasn't until a passive-aggressive review (but not a flame) was left by an anonymous reviewer that I realised I needed to seriously sit down and figure things out. KMLASTD transformed from a regular, casual Next Gen fic into something more dramatic and serious. I like to think there's still humour in it, but it will be taking the stance it should be taking on such a sensitive issue.**

**Thank you. And enjoy :)**

* * *

** "I'm going to kiss you now, and I don't know if I'll ever stop"  
James McGuire, Providence**

**1.**

I didn't really believe in magic when I was younger. Magic was the stuff of fairy tales where princesses relied on charming princes to sweep them away from their mundane lives. I scoffed at Snow White when she escaped Death's cold clutches at the kiss of a passing stranger, laughed at Cinderella's dependency on a fairy godmother and a prince who didn't even recognise her without the help of a glass slipper. I ridiculed the One True Love nonsense, mocked magic.

No, I didn't believe in magic when I was younger and certainly didn't believe Professor Longbottom when he handed me a crumpled letter and told me that I was to attend Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry that September instead of the local secondary school. The meeting was a disaster. A scuffle quickly ensued in which I armed myself with an umbrella, screaming that he was insane and he brandished a _wooden stick_ out of all things to Vanish it from my hands after one too many bruises. After that little act, I concluded that perhaps he wasn't a psychopath that was trying to kill my family and actually happened to be telling the truth.

From that point onwards I buried myself in books to read up on Hogwarts and this new world that I was supposedly a part of. I learnt about the wizarding wars that had come to pass, saw the names of victims and heroes (Hermione Granger was undeniably my favourite) and about the laws that dictated the world buried within my own. It was fascinating.

For years I thought that magic wasn't real but it was. It was inside me, bundled up in the cells of my body waiting to be used. I didn't need a fairy godmother or a prince. I could get myself out of the situation I was trapped in.

Hogwarts was everything I thought it'd be. When I first saw it loom ahead amidst the fog that hung low over the Black Lake, a part of me couldn't help but compare it to the town I grew up in. Unlike the perpetual grey I was accustomed to, Hogwarts was lit up like a Christmas tree. It was magnificent and beautifully structured, a towering fortress overlooking a vast lake. It was the perfect postcard.

On the first night of my time at Hogwarts, I was so lost in my thoughts that I didn't notice a dark figure rise on the opposite side of the boat we shared until it rocked dangerously. Turning to frown at him, I had a perfect view of the thoughtful look that passed over his face before he shrugged wordlessly and _launched _himself at me, taking the two of us overboard.

The boy who pushed me into the freezing waters of the Black Lake before I even had a chance to enter Hogwarts was none other than Freddie Weasley, someone who grew up to become one of Hogwarts Golden Boys. Before he did that he earned a smack off me for being the reason that I entered the Great Hall scowling and shaking in my boots. He offered to share the huge moleskin coat that Hagrid had kindly shrugged off, but did so with a suggestive grin and a glint in his eye that I didn't quite trust. So I told him to get lost.

Freddie Weasley did not "get lost". Actually he proceeded to do the exact opposite. For two years after that incident he constantly annoyed me, tugging on my curls in lessons, sitting next to me at lunch to slip one of his father's inventions into my food, poking me with battered quills and occasionally tampering with my potions. He seemed to live for my reactions, laughing when I exploded into a rant or grabbed one of the common room pillows to hit him in the face with. Never was he put off by my blunt manner or deadly glare. It only spurred him on.

In third year it took a different turn. He returned from summer taller than me and appeared to have practiced his charming smile because both him and James now had girls pining after them. At first he stuck to his usual tricks and teased me mercilessly until I threw my copy of _Hogwarts: A Complete Histor_y at the back of his head in a fit of rage. He whirled around to apologise and did it by grabbing my face with both hands and pecking me on the lips.

My stunned lack of a reaction at the time apparently convinced him that I'm fine with a kiss every now and then. Freddie continuously chooses to ignore the violent reaction that followed the others.

It's precisely this reaction to his advances that means I am severely disliked by the student population of Hogwarts. They commonly use the word "hate", but let's be honest, they don't know me well enough to hate me. Just like they don't know Freddie well enough to claim that he's too good for me and just a "poor misunderstood soul that likes to joke around a bit". Freddie is neither "poor" nor "misunderstood". He's an idiot. That is all.

I inform him of this when he throws an arm around me at the Welcome Feast and smiles broadly at me.

"Alyssa Chamberlain, don't act like you didn't miss me over the summer," he says, arm still wrapped around me. When I glare at it pointedly, he removes it. "You sent me over a dozen letters."

"I didn't send you anything, Freddie," I tell him.

"Well, you should've," he sighs forlornly, looking down at his empty plate like he's in physical pain. "It's not nice to keep breaking my heart like this."

I narrow my eyes at him. "You sicken me."

From across the table, James Potter laughs and picks up the vintage camera slung around his neck. The grimace appears on my face just in time for him to capture it with a blinding flash and he chuckles at the photo that appears in his hands.

"Aren't you two adorable?" he crows.

Freddie wraps his arm around me again. "We've been together for nearly two years now."

"No, we haven't," I protest, removing his goddamn arm from my shoulder. I scowl at him. "I don't plan on dating you any time soon either."

He raises his eyebrows. "Ouch. That one stung."

With a deep inhale through my nose, I shake my head and turn to look at the front. The first years have shuffled into the Great Hall and are anxiously staring at the tattered leather material that is the Sorting Hat. If I have to choose between dealing with Freddie Weasley and watching them hop from foot to foot, I opt for the first years. At least they won't get bored and try to kiss me.

Honestly speaking, Freddie isn't terrible 24/7. He simply doesn't understand what the limits are and spending too much time in his company leaves me both frustrated and insulted. Sure, I'm still sore about the Black Lake incident, but I would've gotten over that ages ago had he not aggravated me for two years after that and then sneaked small kisses off me for two years after _that_. Olivia's convinced that it's romantic; I usually hit her when she says that.

Fortunately, he doesn't pester me and launches into a whispered conversation with James as Professor Longbottom explains how the Sorting Ceremony works. Excitement is clear in every word Weasley says - either he has explosives on him courtesy of WWW International or he really likes the ceremony. Honestly it could be either; he loves this sort of thing.

Sure enough when the Sorting Hat bursts into song, the loudest cheer comes from beside me which prompts James to spring up to capture a picture of the Hat in action. A "Potter, sit _down_" somehow makes itself heard over the loud clicks of his camera and the Hat's melodious voice. Laughing with Freddie, he settles down in his seat but is soon back up when everyone bursts into cheers for the tremendous performance.

"Avis, Heather!"

As a small girl that visibly shakes with each step approaches the three-legged stool, Freddie whispers in feigned disgust, "I smell a Slytherin."

"No, that's just you," Olivia tells him. She smiles when he narrows his eyes playfully and leans over to pat him on the cheek. Ah, Liv. I remember when she regarded Idiot 1 and 2 as royalty in first year. After enduring their ridiculousness with me, she has come to the same conclusion I have about their sanity, but she's still a lot friendlier than I am.

"She's a Hufflepuff," James guesses as the Hat stays silent on top of her head.

"I'll go with Hufflepuff too," Liv says. She turns to me. "What do you think, Lyssa?"

"Ravenclaw," I answer after a moment's thought.

We wait with baited breath for the verdict to come. When Heather Avis is sorted into Hufflepuff, Freddie groans loudly, hitting the table with a clenched hand. Olivia and James share a grin, knocking their own fists against each other.

"The system is against me and my girl," he cries.

"I'm not your-"

"The Sorting Hat has always hated me!" he continues. "I'm telling you now that _Heather_ _Avis _-" Scorn drips from each letter of her name. "- is a Slytherin!"

"And I'm telling you to shut up. The Sorting is still happening."

My words have him silent immediately. With a small sigh of relief, I cast my gaze back to the sea of first years. Meanwhile the other three discuss what house they think whatever first year is under the Hat will be sorted into, Adelaide Longbottom throwing a few of her own opinions into the mix. Whispers like "oh God, there's no denying that he's a Goyle with _that _nose" and "just because she wears glasses doesn't mean that she's a Ravenclaw, you judgemental swine!" are as clear as day. More than once Adelaide reprimands them at the warning looks from her father.

"Okay, you actually have to shut up now," she says when Nadia Wahid is sorted into our house. "McGonagall's about to make her speech."

By the time the cheers from our table die down, the Headmistress is already behind the podium in the centre of the stage that the staff table is perched on. Her lips thin into a welcoming smile and she begins the standard speech. A reminder goes out to students that the Forbidden Forest is forbidden as its name suggests and that though this is Filch's last year, he still has a list of products that are banned in the castle. She also requests that we refrain from kicking Ms Norris Jr and aggravating the old man in his final days at our school.

Thankfully, she keeps the speech short and food quickly appears onto the platters across all five tables. Pushing my hair out of my face, I reach for the quiche and the nearest bowl of roasted potatoes. Even though I had a big breakfast in the morning and ate lunch on the train, it feels as if I've starved all day so I make sure to give myself a generous helping. No one sends me any strange looks at the sight of the mini mountain on my plate, not that I would suddenly find myself caring if they did.

"Say Alyssa," Freddie says conversationally after a few moments of silence. He tugs on one of my curls, automatically retracting his hand to avoid my own that rises to smack it away. "Is your hair shorter?"

"That is what generally happens when you go to the hairdresser's," I answer.

He rolls his eyes. "I know what happens at a hairdresser's. I just wanted to tell you that you look cute with it like that." A smile is sent my way.

"Thanks," I reply automatically. No part of me really means it though. It's an instant response to a compliment that can never be taken seriously considering it comes from Weasley, the boy who lives to get under my skin. Nevertheless his smile grows wider at my toneless response and he taps my nose before returning to his chicken.

Dinner lasts a while. People take their time to eat in between stories about the summer, descriptions of holidays abroad - temples in Greece, pyramids in Giza, glaciers in Greenland - and of fiery and flirty flings with Muggles that were either far too curious about the mystery of our lives or far too stupid to realise that something was wrong. Exciting adventures, hilarious jokes, good natured complaints and interesting rumours circulate the air. Dessert is served with a story from James about the reporter from Witch Weekly that stalked his brother for days.

I cast my thoughts to the memories of my own summer. It was tame, boring when compared to the tales flying back and forth. Whilst other students explored Siena, Santa Fe and Sydney, I wiped down tables and balanced food in my arms as I wove my way in between customers at my uncle's cafe, cursing the International Statute of Secrecy for preventing my use of a simple levitation charm. Summer was spent in a boring grey town that no one has heard of, walking through streets with dried chewing gum stuck to the pavements and graffiti on the walls providing the only colour in the scenery.

"You've been awfully quiet." Olivia leans over the table to murmur. "You have that look on your face again."

"What look?" Instantly, I'm defensive.

"The look you get when you think about your hometown," she clarifies. When I make a face, she pats my arm comfortingly. "There, there. You're in Hogwarts now. Fifth year as well."

"OWL year." I make another face.

"We have loads of time to think about that tomorrow," she says with a little laugh. Then she points at the half-finished chocolate fudge cake in front of me. "You gonna finish that?"

Shaking my head, I push it towards her.

By the time that Professor McGonagall steps up to the podium to finish off the feast with another speech, I'm ready to fall asleep in my seat. Once again she keeps her words short, but ensures that she impresses upon all fifth and seventh year students how important this year is for us. Her final words are succeeded by a thousand teenagers clambering out of their seats and leaving the Great Hall in a jumble of students. Vaguely, I register fifth year prefects calling out for first years in their houses to gather around them, Longbottom's voice the loudest of them all.

Olivia and I head up to the seventh floor together, arm in arm and in silence. There is no more need for words when the feast was so full of them. As each floor is covered, my legs feel heavier and heavier until the sight of the Fat Lady has me nearly crying with relief for them.

"Password?" she asks.

"_Animus_," a voice behind us says. Frowning, I turn around to see a sleepy-eyed Freddie, James quietly inspecting his camera beside him.

"I didn't know you understood the concept of silence, Weasley," I say. I didn't know he'd been behind us this entire time.

"Oh, please, I mastered it years ago when I first started to watch you in your sleep." He smirks. At my alarmed look, it grows wider and he lightly pushes me forward. "Watch your step."

Olivia climbs in through the portrait hole first and makes her way to our dormitory without looking back to see if I've followed. I walk towards the stairs that lead up to them at a much slower pace, taking pity on my legs and deciding not to put them through the torture of running, no matter how quickly it'll be over.

"Wait, Alyssa!" Freddie suddenly calls after me, a tinge of urgency colouring his words.

With a groan, I turn around to face him and raise an eyebrow as if to question why he's preventing me from going to bed. In a matter of a few quick strides, he crosses the common room to where I stand until he is a few inches away. I back away, already knowing where this is going from his close proximity, but it's too late - his arms reach out, pull me close and his mouth presses to mine for a warm second.

"Welcome back." He grins breathlessly.

We're inches apart. From this small distance, I can count the few freckles on his russet face, can see how his eyelashes turn golden at the tips, can smell the Tooth-flossing String Mints on his breath. I lean away…

And the palm of my hand strikes his skin with a smack.

"Welcome back, Weasley," I say, "and stop kissing me before I snap your wand."

I stride up the stairs, no longer caring about the pain of walking quickly. Clearly Freddie Weasley doesn't understand that I don't need a goddamn prince to sweep me off my feet and save the day. He can be as charming as he likes - which apparently isn't anything to brag about - but he won't have any effect on me. No, I can survive by myself.

* * *

**DISCLAIMER: I don't own the Potterverse - that honour lies with the one and only JKR. All I own are the characters and the plot (and I hope neither wants to make you vomit).**

**27/06/15: Minor edits made**

**20/02/16: Note of weight added.**


	2. The Flood of Frustration

**2.**

Nothing could have prepared me for fifth year. Stupidly, I assumed that skimming through the first quarter of each textbook would be enough to stop me from drowning in the flood of OWL prep. The professors don't seem to agree with this. Despite the fact that the exams are all sat in June, they've worked us hard from the very first day of classes, lectures having been recited at the beginning of the year to remind us of what awaits us in the summer and homework set roughly twice a week for each subject.

It takes almost no time at all to understand why fifth and seventh years are the last people to leave the common room at night. With each subject churning out essay after essay, assignment after assignment, we become well acquainted with ink and parchment. The library becomes everyone's best friend within a matter of days since we constantly need to reference a variety of textbooks.

For the first time, I regret not taking an easy subject like Care of Magical Creatures or even Divination.

Nevertheless, I manage to write each essay to the best of my ability, meeting the required length and getting a pass grade on each one I receive back. It's exhausting. If I was in a position to, I wouldn't do any of it. As it stands, I don't have the honour to be a slacker like some people (does Harry Goldstein ring a bell to anyone? No?) and I need the grades. They mean everything to me.

Which is why when Professor Chang announces that she'll personally approach each student before she begins the lesson for our essays on the advanced theory of Transfiguration, I am not surprised.

Olivia, however, is. "We had an essay?" she hisses to me, eyes wide.

"On the advanced theory of Transfiguration." I nod.

Panic spreads across her face. "Oh Godric. I was too busy reading that book for Defence Against the Dark Arts - you know, the one written by the Muggleborn on the run in the Second War?"

"The Days of the Dark: Discrimination and Death," I recite automatically.

As she nods, I briefly wonder about how strange it is to think that there once was so much stigma over people like me: Muggleborns. It's an alien concept to think that we were thought of as dirt because of circumstances. No matter how much I try to imagine it, the idea seems weird. Hogwarts - the entire magical world itself feels like home. Salvation. To imagine otherwise is impossible.

"It's an interesting book," I say.

Olivia considers this. "Yeah, it kinda was…but it sounds terrifying, especially considering Dad was actually a part of all of it." Her freckled forehead crinkles into a small frown as she trails off. "I don't know, I don't really like to think about it-"

She is cut of by a sudden squawk of _"Professor, I swear on the Ministry of Magic itself that I'm not lying to you!_". An amused grin etches itself on her lips at the cry before her face smoothes out as she addresses the problem again.

"That's not the point. Basically I forgot to write my essay so I don't know what excuse to tell Chang."

I open my mouth to reply at the same time that a terse voice speaks, "Miss Creevey, there will be no need to think of an excuse since _Professor _Chang already knows." Slowly, we turn in our seats to face the faintly amused face of our Transfig teacher. "I'll see you in detention."

A faint groan escapes from Liv's lips at odds with the sheepish smile she sports. Like the brilliant friend I am, I don't attempt to stifle my laugh and earn a sharp jab in the side by her wand for it. Whatever. It's not like she didn't see it coming.

By the time she's made her way around the classroom, Chang is exasperated. Out of the entire class roughly half of the students have handed in a markable essay - all of the Hufflepuffs and Slytherins, a couple Ravenclaws and three Gryffindors including me.

"Well class." She stands at the front of the classroom, a grimace painted onto her face and hands firmly on her hip, the epitome of disappointment. "I have to say that this is completely unacceptable behaviour for people that are sitting the most important exams of their lives in less than a year."

Her lecture is followed by a pregnant pause in which we meet her steely eyes with the usual vacant expressions worn in these situations.

"You're fifteen, some of you sixteen," she continues. "I expect you to hand in whatever I set. If you have a valid excuse, I might postpone the date you need to hand in by." Someone at the back makes a noise of disagreement, causing Chang to add, "No, being a member of the Quidditch team does not exempt you from the usual deadline, Fred. Short of being knocked unconscious by a Bludger, little will do. I was a seeker once; I know that it's possible to balance homework and extracurriculars."

He groans. "But Professor-"

"No buts," she says sharply. "I expect you to arrive here at eight o'clock tomorrow night for your detention along with everyone else who thought that they were above such assignments."

"But Quidditch season is _literally_ starting-"

"This isn't debatable."

With a final hard look at us all, she swiftly turns on her feet, the fabric of her magenta robes swishing dramatically and approaches the blackboard at the front. A stick of chalk rises as if guided by an invisible hand and scrawls _THE VANISHING SPELL _in neat penmanship.

"Today we are finally taking a step away from the advanced theory of Transfiguration," she tells us, "in which we built upon the general knowledge and principles behind the spellwork and are looking at specific spells. Hence the title on the board which you should all be copying down at the moment."

At her words, there's a sudden scramble for our bags and the noise level spikes up briefly as we softly curse under our breath. I place a slightly crushed piece of parchment on my desk and extract the usual ballpoint pen to write with. As amazing as Hogwarts is, it's not extremely practical in this sense. An exercise book would be miles better than the rolls of parchment you accumulate for notes. Thank God for pens though. Quills are a nightmare to use.

"The Vanishing Spell is learnt in a series of stages," Professor Chang says. "The most difficult stage is vanishing vertebrates, but luckily we won't be at that stage for a while yet. All you need to know is the theory behind the spell-" A groan erupts in the classroom. "-and the incantation itself. Does anyone know it?"

The first hand to rise is a Ravenclaw - the female of the Entwhistle twins, I think. "_Evanesco_."

"Correct, ten points to Ravenclaw," she approves. "_Evanesco _is indeed the - James Potter, let go of your camera or else I will confiscate it."

Naturally I whip my head round along with the rest of the class to look at the guilty boy. He slowly lowers his camera back onto his chest. "Er…" He searches for an appropriate response. "Sorry?"

"Sugarplum," adds Freddie, rocking back on his chair.

The class snickers in appreciation. Pursing my lips to stop myself from laughing in his line of sight, I roll my eyes and turn back to the front. Typical Weasley and Potter. The two of them are always being distracting or distracted in lessons much to the amusement of both the students and teachers. Everyone loves them. As I've said, they're the Golden Boys.

"What on earth is so interesting that you need to take a photo in the middle of my lesson?" Professor Chang asks in bewilderment.

"I can't tell you that, professor," he answers seriously. "A photographer never reveals his secrets."

"That's a magician," Longbottom informs James.

"Do not _question _the art," he commands in a loud voice as if it'll physically render the truth useless.

I have to bite my lip to prevent the smile that threatens to spread across it. As annoying as the duo can be, their boisterous attitudes do brighten up the lesson. I don't tell them that; Freddie's ego will be unbearable.

"As wise as the advice is, 'the art' is irrelevant to Vanishing charms." Chang assumes control of the class once again, the stern tone's effect diminished by the curve of her mouth. She claps her hands together. "Catriona kindly said the incantation for the Vanishing charm which is _Evanesco _if you haven't been listening. We're not going to learn the wand movement until next lesson depending on how much we get done this lesson. From the state of things so far, it won't be next lesson."

Transfiguration passes as smoothly as Chang predicts with casual interjections from the Golden Boys and Fancourt's group of friends. No one minds too much, the atmosphere as light as a feather and the notes are satisfactory enough for Chang to not keep us behind. She rarely does keep us back in the first place, preferring to hand out detentions for misbehaviour. Overall the lesson isn't too bad.

Plus I earn Gryffindor fifteen house points for Chang's bonus question at the end: "where do Vanished objects go?"

Because half of the class haven't handed in the last assignment, we are dismissed without any homework, only a warning that they have to be on her desk next lesson and a reminder about detention. Her last words elicit a groan from Olivia.

"I don't want to go to detention, Lyssa," she whines as we pick our way through the students. "I want to sleep. I haven't slept properly all week and I feel like death."

Linking arms as the lower years threaten to tear us away from each other, I cast a long observational glance at her. Though absent at the moment, a beam is usually found amongst her many freckles and a spring in her step. Liv is like a ray of sunshine packed into a 5 ft "7" frame, a flame from the infamous fireplace of the common room. I'm frequently told that the two of us are complete opposites though it's usually spat at me by gaggles of girls I've forgotten the names of years ago and said in harsher words. You know, by calling me a bitch or a whore etc.

People who know of Liv usually know her because of her perpetual good mood. So when she says that she feels like death, I can't help wonder how much worse I must be when _I _feel terrible. She's like the tiny wave before the tsunami that is my rage.

"_Animus_," she says clearly when we reach the portrait of the Fat Lady. We walk over to the armchairs and plop down beside each other with soft thuds. "I'm in a terrible mood now. I can't wait until lunch - a good chocolate fudge cake will be the only thing to fix it."

"Complaining about the det, Creevey?" Freddie grins as he comes to a stop beside us. "It's only Chang, we'll be fine."

"Yeah, not really. I'd rather sleep than write lines."

He looks at me. "I bet you handed in your essay, Lyssa."

Automatically my mouth curls into a scowl at his casual use of Olivia's nickname for me before I reply tersely, "_Yes_."

His chocolate brown eyes widen at my venom and he holds out his hands in surrender. "It was a statement, Chamberlain. No need to bite my head off. It'd be quite unfortunate if you do, not to mention rather painful." I stare at him blankly. In the background, I register the soft snickers of Olivia, Adelaide and James. "Speaking of unfortunate events, it really is unfortunate that you handed in your essay."

"Why?" I pose the question with some weariness. Knowing Freddie, he's going to say something like…

"We could've spent some quality time together afterwards."

James lets out a groan at the same time that Olivia and Adelaide burst into laughter. He grabs Freddie and steers him up the stairs to their dormitory and - thankfully - away from me.

I honestly don't understand what possesses him to say such things. Statements like that aren't charming even if the smile that accompanies them is. They're actually quite sickening. They'll never work. On the off chance that he eventually slides out a smooth one-liner, it'll be pointless because I'm not interested in that sort of thing anyways. Relationships are too much trouble.

* * *

Having Potions at the end of the day is not a good thing. Out of all of the lessons it's Potions that I struggle most with, never quite managing to achieve the same consistency as Olivia's concoctions and barely scraping passes in some cases. The two of us complement each other well when we work near each other, my notes saving her life and her watchful eye saving everyone else's.

My lack of skills in the art of brewing means that Potions is generally a lesson that I don't look forward too. However, the thought of having it for the final period is positively torture - Professor Chambers is in his late twenties and has the sort of smile that makes most girls weak in the knees. It's pretty distracting during my attempts to crush horned slugs when I can constantly hear whispers about his golden curls and all I want to do is sleep for a few hours.

"It's an interesting novel," Olivia says as we trudge into the lower levels. "I actually really like it and don't mind the analysis in class that much."

I inform her that To Kill A Mockingbird is one of my favourite books of all time and that if she didn't like it, I would probably stab her in the eye with my wand, drive all twelve inches of ebony into her socket. She pleasantly tells me that I'm a sadistic cow before she excitedly chatters about the relationship between Dill and Scout, referencing lines from the literature. We enter the corridor outside the dungeon in laughter.

How ironic considering we're about to walk into Potions of all things.

While we wait for Professor Chambers to appear, I lean against the wall patiently, its jagged surface digging into my robes. For some reason, the dungeons have horribly rough walls designed to scrape bare palms and draw blood. I have a theory that it's because the castle knows the lower levels contain Slytherins.

I listen attentively as Olivia continues to divulge her thoughts on To Kill A Mockingbird - she rarely reads so these instances have to be treated with the utmost respect, okay - and ignore the dark looks some of the girls send me.

Most of the time I don't have to do anything and they think that it's perfectly acceptable to treat me like a murderer. They might say they hate me, but it's only because I refuse to bend over backwards to impress them and say the truth. And because I slap Fred Weasley. A lot. It shouldn't matter to them whether I hit him anyway since he isn't their property. Even if they wish he was.

Pathetic. Girls like Sarah Fancourt are _pathetic_. Pining over Freddie and James, hiding behind their daggers and safety in numbers, irrationally projecting their own disbelief that the Golden Boys don't date onto someone that doesn't care either way.

"Welcome, welcome!" Professor Chambers strolls around the corner; the door to his classroom flies open with a flick of his wand and he ushers us in. "Sorry about the late arrival, I had a free period and was spending it in the staff room." As we shuffle in past him, he calls out that we're finishing off our potions from last lesson and to get our equipment ready as soon as we reach our desks.

I groan at the inevitability of the practical.

"Cheer up, Lyssa." Liv beams, the usually infectious grin now having no effect on me. I must be immune. "You can't be good at everything. Besides this is a fairly simple potion from what I can remember."

Grimace permanent on my face, I extract the textbook from my bag and flip to the correct page. Sure enough, there are only three steps left after the ingredients are left to react with each other and I set up my desk with more pep in my actions. It's a miracle really considering how much I hate brewing potions.

I should've known that Potions is never that easy.

It turns out that the next step requires the Sopophorous bean to be cut to release its juice and then grounded into a fine powder that would turn into a thick paste once it was mixed with its juice and some water. A spoonful of this paste has to be added with every six-and-a-half clockwise stirs followed by another six-and-a-half anti-clockwise stirs at which point another spoonful is thrown in and so on until it's used up.

"For the love of God, I am going to _kill someone_," I curse heartily, throwing down the knife with little care as to where it lands.

Olivia glances up from the simmering contents of her cauldron. "Problem?"

When I speak, it's with a bite, "Oh no, I happen to enjoy bleeding. What gave my good mood away? _The part where I threatened to kill someone?_"

"No, it was the bitchy tone." She smiles calmly at the glare I send her, adding, "Remember not to get any blood in the potion. Magical blood will have some effect on it."

"I know that," I say. Internally, I can't help but cringe at my sulky resentment. "I know the theory, I just can't do the actual practical."

Knowing that's her cue to step in and save the day, Olivia rattles off instructions to fill in the blank spaces oh so kindly left behind by the textbook. After making sure that my finger is attached to my hand properly and is no longer bleeding, I follow her advice at a careful pace. That's the great thing about Liv: she's extremely patient. If launching into the well-paid career path of developing medicinal potions never works out, she'll be a great teacher. From the bottom of my heart, I can truly say that I have no doubts about that.

With her guidance, I make it through relatively unscathed. Unless you count the cut on the middle finger of my left hand. Or the burn on my arm when it momentarily pressed against the scalding cauldron. Not one of my brightest moments, I must admit.

"Thanks Liv," I say gratefully as I scoop the frothing liquid into a glass vial. "I don't know what I'd do without you."

"Blow up Hogwarts?" she suggests, jumping up to sit down on my desk. Her feet rest on the empty chair beside me. "Land yourself in St. Mungo's?"

For a brief second, I contemplate poking her in the side or tickling her, but decide against it. I'll be nice for the rest of the lesson - she did help me after all.

"Tonight is one where we can relax," I declare, writing my name in shining black ink on a label. "I don't have any homework that needs to be in for the rest of this week and we can finally breathe."

"Oh sweet salvation!" She clasps her hands together, looks toward the heavens and remains there for a few moments. To hell with it. I grab my wand and jab it into her side with a laugh.

"Idiot."

"You injured me," she screeches, rubbing the spot tenderly.

"And I relished every second of it."

"You _monster_. I need to have a word with Freddie about controlling his woman."

My eyes fall into slits. The little sneak. How dare she bring up the idiot in a perfectly normal conversation? Why would she do it? He seems to have an uncanny ability of turning up whenever the two of us mention him and I don't want to deal with him at the moment.

Olivia cracks a grin. "What? No witty comeback?"

I inform her that the next time she comes into contact with a wand it will be placed somewhere that'll make life extremely uncomfortable for her to which she bursts into laughter.

"You're cute together," she says when it's mostly subsided. At my incredulous look, she ploughs on. "Don't look at me like that, you must think it sometimes. He's all dark and handsome, you're small and provide a challenge for him."

"I'm not some game," I answer tightly.

A look of understanding passes over her face. Her legs begin to swing like a child's, hits the oak of the desk with a soft thud, swings like a pendulum in the air and then bounces off the chair. For a moment we stay quiet amongst the orderly chaos of the lesson as she mulls her words over in her mind and chooses the best way to express her thoughts, knowing that I am quite volatile when it comes to Freddie Weasley. Wise girl.

The sight of the brown strands of hair thoughtfully twisting in her hands is one that I am accustomed to, a habit that I link directly and automatically to her. It's like how I play with my charm bracelet when I'm nervous.

"I know that you don't like the idea of relationships. They seem pointless - reckless, even and it's not something you agree with. But you have to agree that the boy has persistence and that's not really something you see these days-"

"He doesn't like me," I say with conviction. "He likes annoying me."

"Boys do that with girls they like-"

"Yeah, when they're ten," I scoff. "We're turning sixteen this year, Liv, and his behaviour doesn't cut it. I could probably try to get him done for harassment, but I don't because I know that he doesn't - I refuse to admit that he's - you know what I mean, a creep - since it's Freddie. He's messing around. Feelings don't factor into it."

"If you believe that, you're stupid." Her voice is flat for the one sentence, passionate for the ones that follow. "Look at him! Do you honestly think that he doesn't care about you?"

I don't know why I do it, but I turn around. Weasley is at the back, brow furrowed as he carefully pours his potion into the vial. Even from this distance I can see that it's way better than mine, gleaming a molten silver rather than with a dull shine. He sets the vial down and glances up, almost instantly catching my eye. My studious look is greeted with a half-smile.

"I never said he didn't care for me," I answer stiffly to Liv. Exasperation floods into her features. In fact, I have no doubt that Freddie cares for me or else he wouldn't bother me. "He doesn't fancy me."

Olivia groans. "Yes, Lyssa. The boy that has been _kissing you for the past two years_ has no feelings for you."

Stubbornly setting my jaw, I pick up my vial and announce that I'm going to hand it in to Chambers.

I refuse to see the logic in her argument. Freddie Weasley cannot have feelings for me. They're unwanted and unnecessary. Our interactions won't develop from the standard annoy-Alyssa-until-she-snaps, not if I have any say in it. Boys are trouble. Freddie Weasley is trouble.

Carefully, I set my vial into the tray on Chambers' desk and turn around to survey the class, trying to delay going back to Liv for fear of continuing the discussion about Freddie Weasley.

"Looking for me?" a low voice asks, a grin evident in each syllable.

Great. Just my luck.

"No," I say to Fred coolly.

He takes a step closer to me and faces the classroom. In my peripheral vision, I see him casually tuck his hands into the pockets of his robes.

"Sorry for the horrid pick-up line before. It wasn't one of my finest."

"Not that there's a good selection anyway." Amusement laces my reply.

He sucks in a feigned incredulous gasp. "You're not impressed by my smooth moves?"

"I was never impressed, Freddie."

"Is that an invitation to step up my game?" He takes another step closer to me, so close that I can feel the heat that radiates from his body pass through the fabric of our robes. There's a laugh in his voice when he speaks. "That's what it sounds like, Alyssa. That you're asking for better pick-up lines."

Oh God. I walked right into that one.

"Well?"

I groan. "You frustrate me so much."

At first I'm convinced that the shadowy half-grin will be his only response. Then he takes that one step closer and bends his neck so that his mouth is right beside my ear. I shiver at the warmth of his breath, remember my pledge to not do this, remember that this is _Freddie Weasley_ out of all people and that there's a tray of potions behind me so I'm effectively trapped-

"Sexually?" he suggests wickedly.

What. On. Earth.

"_No!_"

Temper flaring up immediately, I push past him, planning on striding up to Liv and restarting our conversation about To Kill A Mockingbird - anything to get away from the grinning boy behind me.

Instead, I meet the eyes of a furious Sarah Fancourt. Her expression is livid and a sneer to match hers automatically curls my lips at the sight of her jealousy. Her wand hand jerks involuntarily in her anger at Freddie's little act; the flames underneath her cauldron shoot up, engulf the pewter in a furious display of red, amber, gold and-

BOOM.

It erupts in a soft explosion.

Black smoke smothers her. A shriek sounds followed by a painful thud. Everyone goes into a frenzy, lost and confused and curious and _excited_. By the time the smoke clears, the pewter is blackened at its base and Sarah Fancourt is on the floor, knocked unconscious. Her hand still grips her wand.

I sigh. I hate Potions for a reason.

* * *

**A/N: SO GUYS. Did you like the chapter? Hate it? Have any suggestions as to what could be included in later chapters? (I mean there's a structure that I'm planning on sticking to, but it's kinda flexible?) Remember to review if you have the time, even if it's just to say that you want to lick Freddie's face (I think it's too early to want that but you know, to each their own) and check out my Tumblr if you want to! I am exploring the world that is Tumblr at the moment! It's happening! It really is!  
**

**I think I'm gonna shut up now. If you haven't realised, I really need to go to sleep. I am delirious. See you next time!**

**elixirsoflife xo**

**23/06/15: ****Firstly, minor edits have been made to this chapter. Secondly, there _might_ be some more minor edits made to the following chapters until I upload the fifth chapter (hopefully) by the end of the week because a) MISTAKES ARE THE BIGGEST PET PEEVES EVER and b) I've realised that there are some _small _differences between copies of this chapter here, on my laptop and on HPFF. I'll try to fix this as much as I can, but if you do notice any differences, sorry.**


	3. The Sleeping Beauty of Gryffindor Tower

**3.**

Ancient Runes is a lot like Maths, I suppose. When I talk to my old Muggle friends (acquaintances, really - I mean, we only speak in the summer and don't even bother attempting to suggest that we stay in touch throughout the school year), they frequently complain about how hard Maths is. Words like algebra, trigonometry and coefficients are mentioned casually with groans that convey their hatred for anything related to the subject. Only one of them describes it as interesting, sometimes speaking about how satisfying it is to get a problem and go through all of the steps to solve it. There's always one right answer in the end - it's certain, there's no beating around the bush with it.

I feel that way about Ancient Runes. It's an insanely difficult subject, so much so that Liv refused to take it on with me, but getting the right answer in the end brings with it an immense amount of gratification. It's not the most fun class, but it's definitely the one with the most rewarding work.

Despite my love for the subject, my eyes stay glued to the clock face above the door, watching the minutes tick away anxiously. Ancient Runes marks the end of the school week this year. Naturally most people are restless during the hour, wanting nothing more than the bell to ring with a shrill shriek and to be dismissed and for once I'm one of them. Today my need to escape to the common room is largely down to one thing: I need the bathroom.

I _really _need the bathroom. Unfortunately, the professor is one of those that believes you should go in your own time and not during her lesson so I am reduced to shaking my leg in an attempt to somehow control the urge. Thankfully, I don't share a desk with anyone so no one can snap at me to stop.

Trying to distract myself, I glance around the classroom at the other students. Most of them are Ravenclaws and prove that the stereotype that all Ravenclaws compete to be the teacher's pet is unfounded since they barely pay attention to Brocklehurst's last words. Instead they're packing away their bags, muttering to each other about the match tomorrow, leaning back on their chairs to be able to discuss the odds better.

Most people in the castle are concerned about the match tomorrow. The buzz infected the school when Madame Hooch moved the match to a week earlier than usual. Both of the Gryffindor and Ravenclaw teams acted immediately, deciding to spend as much time as possible on the pitch and arranging entire crowds to escort each player when they were off it in order to block any hexes that tried to knock out the competition. As the first match of the year, it's always the topic of conversation for days on end - understandably, of course. I might not be an expert, but I do know that Quidditch is an amazing sport.

And that Gryffindor has the best team in the school. We lost narrowly to Slytherin last year because of Albus Potter, but that doesn't change anything. Besides, we won the Cup the two years before that.

I almost cry in relief when there's a knock on the door and the Quidditch Captain, Crazy Ste Spinnet, pops his head in. There's an amiable grin on his face, one that hides the insane Quidditch fanatic just under the surface. His arrival means that there's only a couple of minutes left.

"Hullo, Professor," he says cheerfully. "I'm here for Weasley."

Brocklehurst shakes her head exasperatedly. "You students and Quidditch" is all she says. She catches Freddie's eye and jerks her head toward the door. He's on his feet within seconds.

"You know how it is, Professor," he says. "All of these Ravenclaws can't keep their hands off me."

As he winds his way through the desks, I wish I hadn't been so stubborn earlier this month when he offered me the position of being an escort for him to and from Ancient Runes. Though the idea of being a human shield is horribly degrading, I probably could've slipped out of it so that I could use the bathroom earlier.

The door shuts after him and Brocklehurst looks back at us for a long second. She purses her lips. "Alright, there's no point talking to you lot anymore. You can get up, but you can't leave until the bell rings."

Relieved to be one step closer to the nearest girls' bathrooms, I rise from my seat instantly. When the bell eventually rings, it's literally the sweetest sound I've ever heard. I shoot out of the classroom as fast as my legs can carry me, pushing past everyone. A few colourful curses follow me all the way there.

My next stop is the common room: a place to relax and forget about the stress that is abundant this year. I have a nice couple of days ahead of me with no homework tonight, the Quidditch match and after-party tomorrow and The Hobbit to look forward to on Sunday. My only assignment is to consider the usefulness of being able to identify different plants.

This is what freedom tastes like. Because as seriously as I take my homework, I really can't be bothered studying 24/7. The commitment isn't without its cons.

I barely register muttering the password to the Fat Lady and enter the common room with a vague sense of relief washing over me. It's already filling up with people, a casual atmosphere settling like a blanket of warmth to aid the fire. On my way to the dormitory, a sweeping gaze allows me to take note of various people I recognise - Liv painting her nails, James and Adelaide at a table near the windows, Colin Creevey playing wizard's chess with a friend beside the fire. I catch Liv's eyes as I step onto the first stair and smile before I'm out of sight.

As the door shuts behind me, the chatter abruptly cuts off. Silence submerges me and the only noise is the light inhale and exhale of my lungs. It's somewhat relaxing so I take my time to discard my bag and shrug off my clothes. Taking into consideration the increasingly cold Scottish weather, I pick out a warm dress and a jumper to wear over it.

Muggle fashion has finally entered the magical world in the recent years, something I am so glad about. Since it's still a relatively new addition to the wizarding chains, Muggle-inspired fashion is seen as one of those teenage things that will eventually be forgotten. The style that has been established by what's out there is quite vintage - dresses with little collars and round, velvet buttons that run down the centre, pleated skirts that almost reach the knees, adornments of bows and polkadot patterns. A lot of it is right up my alley, but not suited to Scotland's temperament which can make it a problem sometimes.

After I slip the jumper over my head, I rifle through my collection for a book. Not The Hobbit because I'm reserving that for Sunday, but something lighthearted and funny. In the end, I settle for a book that Liv gifted me called The Disastrous Effects of Amortentia. When I unwrapped it two years ago, I honestly thought it was a joke. The Disastrous Effects of Amortentia has been listed on the Top Ten Teen Witch reads since it was first published, but I'd sworn not to go near it because it appeared to be, quite simply, idiotic.

The entire plot seemed so cliche. What kind of idiot wanted to read a story about a teen witch at Hogwarts that was fed Amortentia as a joke and _somehow _this led to her life crashing down around her at which point the boy she made a fool of herself in front of _conveniently _fixed it all? I didn't. Which is why the book stayed untouched for weeks until Liv's incessant begging drove me to the edge and I picked it up.

Spoiler alert: The disastrous effects of Amortentia are not limited to eternal embarrassment and affection for a boy with a charming smile. There are plot twists and many of them.

As soon as I open the dormitory door, muffled shrieks from downstairs cuts through the silence. No longer is there light laughter and jokes thrown about and my curiosity pushes the plan to acquaint myself with fictional Hufflepuffs to the back of my mind as I descend the stairs.

By the time that I've entered the common room, the screaming match seems to have been broken up. A few people linger around the fire, waiting eagerly for whatever went on to resume with a bang. My interest growing, I wind my way there and enter the scene of the crime. On one side is Liv, the pleasant nature she's renowned for a mere myth at the current moment in time. She's crouched protectively over a fallen second year; Colin fidgets and the movement reveals a split lip, a trickle of blood that dribbles down his chin.

Instantly, my idle curiosity transforms into a pool of dread in my stomach.

"Liv," I say, hurrying over to her. I look down at her brother and then get down on my knees beside him. "Hey, Colin."

"Hullo, Alyssa," he says in a small voice. The meek tone turns my friendly smile sad.

"Lyssa." Relief wraps around every letter of my nickname and I turn to face my best friend grimly in response. She answers my unasked question without any prompts, "McLaggen decided to be a prick again."

Knowing that ignoring Colin won't make him feel any better, I ask him, "What did he do this time?" and ensure that no pity leaks into my voice. There's no use babying him, especially when it only serves to give McLaggen more fuel to mess around with him.

Colin looks down at the ground, pushing himself off it into a sitting position. "He came over and started doing what he usually does - you know, calling me names and stuff. When I tried to stand up to him, he hit me with my chess set."

It's only then that I notice the pieces scattered on the floor. A few feet away a couple of pawns moan in agony, writhing on the floor. They've been terribly chipped and seem to resent it.

"That's when Livvy came," he concludes.

I turn back to Liv to see fury settle upon her face. Her nostrils flare as she seethes, a dark flush working its way up her features in her effort to maintain some composure.

"One day I'm going to murder him, I _promise,_" she hisses, leaning over to furiously swipe at the blood on Colin's chin. He bats her hand away in embarrassment. "He's such a bloody _bastard_ \- how _pathetic _do you have to be to bully a second year?"

"What did you do to stop it?" I ask.

Liv's voice is grim. "I lost my temper - shot a Stinging Hex at him, but he easily defended himself being a seventh year and all. He was about to hex me back when Molly Weasley stepped in."

I blink, not sure whether I heard that right. "_Molly_-"

"Yep. She's talking to him now."

Liv jerks her head over to the other side of the small circle created by the cluster of armchairs to where a redhead is indeed deep in conversation with McLaggen. I can't believe my eyes: Molly Weasley is not known to be a saviour for the younger students. In fact, she doesn't have a glowing reputation at all.

She's notorious within the corridors of Hogwarts and the streets of the wizarding world. Outside of the castle, she is another Weasley kid, the youngest daughter of the Minister of Magic's National Security Advisor, but inside these walls she's known to be the witch that runs the black market. She's heavily based in the Slytherin Dungeons though remains a Gryffindor and has ties with all houses and people on all levels of the hierarchy. She's earned herself quite the reputation and is known for her skills of persuasion - sex, blackmail, money. Name the method and there's a rumour or two floating around about her uses of it.

"Seriously?" McLaggen almost whines the word like a child. His voice carries over to us. "Why are you protecting that pathetic little runt over there?"

I spare Colin a glance, watch as his face flushes as red as the blood quickly drying on his chin. He pushes himself up off the ground.

"Don't call me that," he says, the fierceness in his voice diminished somewhat by the quietness of his tone.

McLaggen looks over and laughs, clearly noticing this. "You tried," he reasons with a bite to his words that suggests that Colin's inferiority can't be helped. "Ten house points for effort, you stupid beast."

Liv flares up instantly, jumping up into a defensive position so quickly that I get whiplash just from watching her. I quickly follow suit, just in case I'm needed. "Don't you dare speak like that to him, you bastard!"

McLaggen leans forward. "Yeah? What are you going to do about it?"

"Everybody calm the fuck down," Molly Weasley snaps. "Now." Her voice holds a note that clearly states she is not to be argued with, her face oddly serious. In all of the times that I've seen her, the arrogance in her expression has been too prominent to ever allow her to look serious. Then again, I've never made any deals with her.

"What are you doing, Molls?" McLaggen sighs, turning back toward her.

She scrunches up her nose in disdain. "Don't call me that, Terrence. We're not sleeping together anymore, there's no need for it." He flushes an ugly pink in response. "I'm here because I use this common room and it's happens to be a Friday; I've been busy all week and I'd rather you didn't bully a second year and prevent me from relaxing for once. Frankly, it's pathetic that you're going to stoop that low."

A new appreciation for Molly Weasley wells up in me. I smirk at the stricken look on McLaggen's face.

"Molls- Molly, I was only messing around with him," he protests. "It wasn't anything serious."

"The kid has a split lip," she says flatly, sparing Colin a glance. He looks both awed and terrified to receive her attention. "He's twelve, Terrence, and you're nearly eighteen. It's vile. And you broke his chess set. As a lover of the fine game, I'm honestly disgusted." McLaggen appears to be speechless. She adds, "Well, leave then."

The few students who linger nearby take the order for themselves too. All of them scurry away into their respective seats to watch us interestedly from there. McLaggen follows suit, storming up to his dormitory and swearing under his breath. Once they've left, Molly Weasley approaches us.

"You okay, kid?" she asks Colin.

"Yeah, I'm fine." He smiles sheepishly. He mutters a farewell, playfully nudges Liv and smiles at me before we can force a first aid kit on him. I watch him go back to his friends.

"Thanks for helping us out," Liv's saying when I turn back around. "Especially since you and McLaggen were - involved and all."

Molly grins and shrugs. "Eh. He wasn't brilliant anyway." She looks at me. "Chamberlain, right?"

"Yeah," I answer, tone guarded. Considering the two of us don't really know each other, there's only one way that she knows my name and that's because-

"You're the girl that Freddie's besotted with?" If her grin was mischievous before, it's positively wicked now. "_Alyssa_."

"He's not 'besotted' with me." I frown at her, arms crossed over my chest. "He likes to annoy me."

She raises her eyebrows. "_Right_. Well, it was a pleasure doing business with you. Tell the kid that I can get him a chessboard signed by my Uncle Ron for pretty cheap if he wants it." She directs the second part toward Liv and then leaves without another word.

We watch her walk away, giving her the attention that she naturally calls for. As soon as I realise that I'm acting like McLaggen out of all people, I tear my gaze away from her and focus it on the ground to find my book. Before the incident happened, I was planning to curl up quietly in the corner and relax. Clearly, that went well.

Liv leads me over to one of the sofas and leans into my shoulder with her feet off the floor once we're settled. She seems to be content to rest her throat - I'm sure she nearly damaged her voice box with all the screaming she probably did - and continue to paint her nails as I delve into a fictional version of Hogwarts. A smile passes over her face at the title of the book - she always has been weirdly happy whenever she sees me using one of her presents.

Maybe an hour and a half passes before I'm distracted by the outside world. After a moment's deliberation, I set down the book to join the conversation James Potter and Adelaide Longbottom have struck up with Liv, consoling myself with the fact that I'm more than halfway through it.

"It seems like everyone else has their life sorted," James complains, rifling through a pile of photos moodily. I've often wanted to know who he sends the photos to every week, but never plucked up the courage to ask him about it. Who Potter writes to is his business even if it seems to be interesting business. "And then there's me with no clue about where the hell I'm going."

I frown, intrigued by the conversation. "What are you guys talking about?" I ask curiously.

James pauses in his shuffling to send me a grin as if to say hello. Adelaide actually voices her greeting and then explains, "Career paths. Since it's O.W.L.s year, a lot of people in the family have been writing to James with advice about where to go so he can have an idea of what subjects to try harder for."

"The problem is that their advice is about as useful as Stinksap," he says crossly, shuffling the photos with more abandon. "I'm barely sixteen, how should I know what I want to spend the rest of my life doing?"

"Other people don't seem to have a problem with it," I say before I can help myself, a tease in my voice.

He narrows his eyes at me. "Funny. Why, what are you going into?"

I shrug. "Probably the Ministry."

He makes a face in response, but it doesn't bother me. I've thought it over logically during the summers that I wiped down tables at my uncle's café: working at the Ministry of Magic is a stable career and if I go into the right department, I can get a decent pay for a job that isn't too bad. In a matter of years, I'll be able to get Mum and I a better flat to live in and be free. All that'll be left to do is work harder at my job and get as many promotions as I can so I can get the best wages possible, pay off any loans I might have left and build a life for myself. Working at the Ministry probably isn't the most exciting prospect, but it can't be too bad if Hermione Weasley works there.

"What do you enjoy?" Adelaide takes charge. Her gentle yet firm tone is reminiscent of an older sister's. "It's good to start with your interests, right? So generate some of them and we'll find potential careers."

He takes a moment to think before groaning and falling onto his back on the floor he previously kneeled on. "All that comes to mind is photography."

"So become a professional," Liv suggests. "You might have to work a lot more in the Muggle world, but it's worth a try." When he looks dubious, she adds, "You don't even have to work in the Muggle world - work at the Daily Prophet or the Quibbler or something."

"Work in the same building as my mother?" His tone is flat. For a long moment he meets all of our resolute stares and then groans again, covering his eyes with his right forearm. "No, I give up. I refuse to think about this anymore. Everyone has their lives sorted except for me. Addie's going to be a herbologist, you're going to research medicinal potions, Alyssa's working at the Ministry - even Fred has plans!"

The mention of his best friend strangely sparks my curiosity. In all the years that I've known Freddie Weasley, he has never seemed like the person to plan. No, he's more of a live-in-the-moment type of guy. Carpe diem is his life's motto.

"Weasley has plans?" I ask in surprise.

A smirk slips onto James' face and he removes his forearm to fix me with his amused hazel gaze. "He's going to work at the shop and eventually take over it," he explains. "So don't worry about how he'll pay for the countless dates the two of you will go on."

I don't bother with a response to the idiotic statement. Of course, I should've realised that Freddie will follow his father's footsteps. Weasley Wizard Wheezes is the sort of environment that he fits right into: loud, messy and infested with fangirls. If Sarah Fancourt is an example of the majority of the female magical population, products will sell like crazy with him behind the counter.

Remember when I said that Freddie Weasley has an uncanny habit of appearing when anyone speaks of him? The saying 'speak of the devil and he shall appear' applies to him all too well because only a few seconds have passed when the Fat Lady swings open and the Quidditch team trudge in. All of them look positively exhausted and the only one that's happy about it is Crazy Ste Spinnet.

Freddie scans the common room, spots Adelaide beside us and takes it as an invitation to join. As soon as he's stumbled over, he moans about how no man should ever straddle a Nimbus for hours on end with Crazy Ste Spinnet in the vicinity so she slips off her seat and settles down on the floor. Mumbling in gratitude, he collapses onto the vacant spot and stays still for a long minute.

"He's not dead, is he?" I ask, using my wand to poke the back of his neck. He jerks and says something, but it escapes his mouth as a garble of incomprehensible syllables muffled by the cushion. "I guess not."

He rolls over so that he's on his side, facing James. I imagine the position is more comfortable even if his legs are hanging over the side because he can speak properly now.

"We better win this game tomorrow," he says. "Ste's going to kill us if we don't and then attempt to win the next match with our corpses."

How wonderfully morbid.

"You'll win," James says airily, his hand flapping about dismissively in the air. "Now if you'll excuse me, I'm going to lie on the floor and mope about the lack of direction in my life and then I'll sort out my photos and then go downstairs to eat dinner and then mope some more."

"Speaking of photos, remember to try to take a photo of me tomorrow, yeah?" he tells him. "That way you'll have a recent photo at the funeral if we lose."

"It'll be my sole goal tomorrow."

"I knew we were best mates for a reason."

For the next five minutes, we all do our own things. James lies on the floor and 'mopes', Adelaide writes a letter, Liv begins to make little braids in her hair, Freddie closes his eyes and tries to sleep while I read. All around us there are cheers and the clamour that is synonymous with Gryffindors. Somewhere behind us, I'm sure that Molly Weasley is handling the betting, Crazy Ste Spinnet is bragging about how we're sure to win and preparations for the after-party are well under way. From past experiences, I know that I'm probably not going to join in on those discussions until dinner when Freddie inevitably suggests that I reward him with a kiss once we win. For now though, the five of us are fine in the corner.

It's not until I'm approaching the end of The Disastrous Effects of Amortentia when I realise that I'm _not _fine in the corner. Because I suddenly realise that something hard has been pressed against my left leg for some time now. Looking down, I nearly get a heart attack when I see Freddie Weasley's sleeping face.

Putting the book down, I lightly shake him awake. "Weasley, get up." When he doesn't respond, I shake him harder. "Weasley, get up."

"Gimme five more minutes," he mumbles, swatting away my hands.

I huff impatiently. Who else would land in this situation? Oh, wait, _no one_ because the world apparently likes to only test my patience! Let me tell you, it wears thin. "Get up," I say dangerously. "Now."

My deadly tone gets through to him despite his foggy state. With a displeased noise in the back of his throat, he wrenches open his dark brown eyes and looks at me. "Yes, Alyssa?"

"You seemed to have mistaken my left leg for a pillow," I say coldly.

He freezes for a moment as if it's only dawned on him in this second that there is a reason that he has to look up at me. Finally, he shrugs. "It's very comfortable. You can understand my confusion."

"Get off me."

"But I'm tired-"

"So go to your dormitory," I order. "I'm not a goddamn mattress, Weasley." He mutters something under his breath about beds that I struggle to catch before begging me not to kick him off. "You're preventing me from being able to do that," I remind him.

"Can't we just talk?" he asks, almost whines really. "You don't understand the pain I've been through-"

"I'm going through a lot of pain now with you on my leg."

"My head is not that heavy," he protests. "I'll get off your leg in five minutes."

"No. Now."

"Five minutes."

"Now."

"Five minutes."

"_Now_."

"For God's sake, Alyssa, I'm asking for five fucking minutes!" he exclaims, flushing angrily. "After that, I swear down on my sister's fattest pygmy puff that I'll go to bed."

My lips part to argue my decision further, even as I see the steely resolve in Freddie's eyes. I _should _take pity on him because Crazy Ste is infamous for his gruelling Quidditch practices and with the match in less than twenty four hours, today must've been hell for the players. But I don't want to. In the end, Freddie grumbles and props himself up beside me, head lolling back.

I pick up The Disastrous Effects of Amortentia once again and try to immerse myself in the words. Unfortunately, the fact that I'm aware of Freddie is too distracting and I throw the book back down with a huff, glaring sideways at him.

The idiot opens an eye lazily. "Are you okay?"

"Your presence is distracting," I inform him crisply.

A smile curves on his face and I know that he's aching to use the opportunity to flirt. Surprisingly, he restrains himself and opts for a soft "sorry" instead. At my raised eyebrows, he continues, "I'm just exhausted from the practice. I'll have my energy back in a minute or two."

I nod once to show that I understand. As much as I don't like the position we're in, I guess I can try to be a _little _accommodating. I mean, half of the school is depending on Freddie and his teammates to win the match for us. It's no easy feat. Considering I'm so confident about the team's skills, I can put up with this for a couple of minutes - as long as he doesn't try to chat me up or anything. If that happens, I honestly will smack him.

"You'd better win," I tell him.

He laughs. "I'll do my best to knock the 'Claws off their brooms."

"Get the Seeker out," I say. "Then they'll have no chance. Or knock out their new Chaser - er, her name's French or something - I heard she's actually pretty good."

"Check you out. Are you the team's strategist now?"

"Yes, but I'm more of a behind-the-scenes person. Only the people who need to know do. It's a very secretive business."

"Well, I'm honoured to be one of the few."

"As you should be."

"Does that mean I can have your autograph? I can frame it and put it on my bedroom wall."

"No, it'd be a little bit creepy," I say honestly. "Knowing you, you might try to forge it to sign a marriage certificate."

"Nope, I'm reserving that until I slip you the love potion," he says, sleep beginning to lace his voice. "Dad has plenty in stock."

"You're a creep, Freddie."

My comment doesn't dampen the admittedly pleasant mood right now, not when Freddie jokes that he has his ways. As annoyingly dense as he can be with me, I know him well enough to know that he's not touching a love potion any time soon which is why I laugh in response.

We easily keep up the banter for a few more minutes, the topic light and humorous. I wish things are like this more often. Just because I won't date him doesn't mean that it's impossible that I might _eventually _accept Freddie as my friend _if _he tries hard enough. If he stops with the unnecessary flirting, I won't be as inclined to slap him.

Finally, he stands up and yawns, stretching out his limbs. "Thanks for not kicking me off, Alyssa."

"As long as we win, it was worth suffering through," I say, fiddling with my bracelet.

The same smile that he's directed toward me over the past four years is fired my way as he cracks his knuckles - I wince at the sound, not fond of the habit - and I watch the way his eyes brush over the chain on my wrist, lighting up. He doesn't ask where it's from which I'm glad about. I don't know how I can answer the question without sounding stupid.

Instead, he says with quiet conviction, "Oh, we'll win."

"You better," I say. He smiles, turning to go. "And Freddie?" He pauses, looking back at me. "Today was better."

He stares at me for a long moment. "Yeah, it was."

I consider leaving it there, but decide against it. He needs to get the message. If violence hasn't worked, maybe saying it calmly will?

"Don't flirt with me, Freddie," I say softly. "I prefer it like this."

He doesn't say anything, only watches me. At last, he nods and turns to go again. I doubt he's going to listen to my advice but you never know, right? Maybe his brain will finally start working. Maybe he'll finally process the word "no" to mean _no._

"Oh, and Weasley?" I can't help calling after him one last time.

He turns around with an exasperated smile. "_Yes, _Alyssa?"

"Remember my advice for the game."

* * *

The Ravenclaw Seeker is knocked off her broom ten minutes into the match.

Gryffindor win by 120 points.

* * *

**DISCLAIMER: I do not own The Hobbit. It was written by J.R.R Tolkien. However, The Disastrous Effects of Amortentia is completely fictional.**

**A/N: I'm back with another chapter! What do you guys think?**

**elixirsoflife xo**

**18.07.15: Minor edits made.**


	4. Oh Snap

**4.**

_Dear Mum,_

_Nothing has really changed since the last time I wrote. Life has been as normal as anyone can expect at Hogwarts. Gryffindor have a great shot at winning the Quidditch Cup this year and we're doing fairly well at getting house points too - we're tied second with Ravenclaw (who are still sulking about the match haha). I wish you could come to Hogwarts to see one of the games and find out why everyone loves Quidditch. Picture a football match but five times better. Does it sound amazing yet?_

_As I said, school has been standard. Yes, I'm keeping on top of my homework and I'm maintaining a good E in all of my classes so hopefully I'll be able to get them in the exams. No, I'm not distracted in my lessons either. Surprisingly, Freddie is actually listening to me for once and has been trying not to flirt with me for nearly two weeks. I know, I'm shocked! But this is great, it means that I won't have to worry about that disaster anymore. I just hope he keeps it up._

_Liv's fine, by the way. She says hi and thanks for the brownies (they actually were wonderful). James and Adelaide are okay too._

_Say hi to the family for me and tell them I love them :)_

_Love,_

_Alyssa xo_

I watch as one of the school owls hops off the Owlery window and glides away into the Scottish sky. Owls have always been pretty cool, if a little slow for communication, but pets in general are too messy for my tastes. The floor of the Owlery is indicative of this, littered with stray feathers and droppings that give off a nasty smell. I scrunch up my nose and hurry out of there as fast as I can. I don't like being in the room for longer than necessary; I probably spend about five minutes among the birds every week.

Everyone else is already at lunch since they rushed there after lessons. I would've joined Liv if I didn't have to send off the letter. Mum's letter arrived yesterday - knowing her, she'll already be anxious for my reply. Whenever I'm around her, she's actually easygoing and gives me my own space. As soon as I'm at Hogwarts, she has a panic attack if I don't answer within three days and probably considers finding a way to storm the Ministry of Magic to find me.

By the time that I sit down at the Gryffindor table, lunch is well under way. Liv flashes me a closed-lip smile as she chews and I return it absently, reaching for the nearest slice of shepherd's pie. It's accompanied by a variety of boiled vegetables and a couple of scoops of mashed potatoes. To top it all off, I drizzle thick gravy over it all and pour myself pumpkin juice. After more than four years, I'm used to the unusual taste.

"I don't understand how you can have boiled vegetables," Freddie says in faint disgust. I look up to see him fix a nauseated glare at a long stick of carrot. "I've got more of a sweet tooth really."

One glance at his plate confirms it. Only two items look like they're from the table: a reasonably sized piece of cajun chicken and a large slice of chocolate cake drowning in custard. The rest he's probably gotten off his cousin Molly or from his dad because it's an assortment of Honeydukes chocolates and sweets. It looks delicious, but I don't know how he can stomach all of it.

"Did you rob Honeydukes or something?" I ask flatly.

He pretends to be affronted. "I would never betray Ambrosius like that. _I _am the proud owner of a Honeydukes points card."

Despite how hard I try to contain it, his ridiculous expression makes me break out into a smile. Before I turn away to focus on my food, he catches my eye and grins almost triumphantly.

"Do you want anything from here?" he asks after I've swallowed my first bite of the shepherd's pie. "There's plenty to go around."

At this, James breaks in eagerly, "Oh, I want that Muggle one: _Toblerone_."

"Shut up, it's not for you," Freddie retorts, shielding his sweets protectively. "Ladies first."

"Then I'll have a Chocolate Frog," Adelaide says grandly. She holds out a hand expectantly. "Come on, pass it."

"I'll have one too." Liv's smile is nothing short of cheeky.

He glowers at them, fishing out two Chocolate Frogs from his mini pile. "I was asking Alyssa," he mutters under his breath. Nevertheless, he still slaps one into both of their open palms. His face clears up when he faces me again. "You want anything, Lyss?"

Oh God, that nickname. Having realised that 'Lyssa' is strictly reserved for Liv's use, he began to use a shorter nickname a few weeks back and hasn't stopped since. I know that he's been making a bit of an effort to stop with his antics, but it's still something that kinda grates on my nerves. With a deeper breath than necessary, I move past it.

"No, I'm fine," I tell him, gesturing my food. "I've got enough right here."

He leans forward. "Are you sure? I mean, I have plenty."

"It's fine, Weasley. Really."

Unconvinced, he leans back and fixes me with a look that conveys his dissatisfaction. I ignore it like I ignored the use of the nickname and dig into my lunch with vigour. Honestly, the Hogwarts house elves are probably the best cooks in the world. I don't think I've ever had food as nice as this and that includes Mum's brownies.

Too immersed with my food, I don't contribute too much to the conversation. When Adelaide asks me about a tricky question on the Arithmancy homework, I give her the answer and then how to work it out at her insistence ("I can't cheat, I'm a Prefect!"). When James happily shows me a photo of the Whomping Willow in the moment that it shed all of its leaves, I compliment his timing. When Liv recounts her Muggle Studies lesson, I listen and laugh about some of the assumptions her classmates have about Muggles. When Freddie tells us about James' last experience on a broomstick amidst bursts of laughter, I crack another smile.

Over the past couple of years, I've learnt what to expect from everyone and how to respond to them. Usually, I either ignored or injured Weasley as he tested out the worst pickup lines in history on me. Since he's not infuriating me, I find that I don't have to do this.

When there's about five minutes left of lunch, James announces that he has to talk to his brother and sister about something his mum wrote to him and hurries off.

"I think I'm going to talk to Hagrid for a second," Freddie says once James has left the Great Hall. He rises, making to sweep the remaining sweets into his bag before he pauses and then tosses a packet of Tooth-flossing String Mints in front of me.

I frown at it. "Freddie, I said-"

"Just take it," he says with a shrug. "Who knows? Maybe I'm thinking for myself and just want you to have better breath for when I kiss you. Take the hint, Lyss."

He smirks wickedly at my stony expression then excuses himself. Continuing to glare at his retreating back, a small part of me notes how annoyingly confident he is. Even the way he walks is so self-assured: a graceful lope unusual for someone of his height. He's just shy of six foot which is normal for most of the boys in the upper years, but a lot of them also happen to be good friends with the floor. Clearly, this isn't the case with Freddie.

"You and Freddie are different," Liv observes, turning in her seat to face me properly.

Something in her tone makes me want to deny everything. "I don't know what you're talking about."

"I think you do." A knowing expression settles onto her features like a second layer of skin. She breaks out into a smile. "There has been a significant lack of smacking and kissing - except for that one in Transfig the other day." I grimace at the reminder of the incident: I'd argued with Freddie about how learning the theory behind the spells honestly is important when he abruptly tugged me close to him to shut me up with a kiss. My answering smack wasn't gentle at all. "Care to explain why?"

Again, something in her tone irks me. I take my time to open the Tooth-Flossing Stringmints to avoid the inevitable conclusion that she'll reach when I answer. Because I know Liv and I know that she'll say that this is proof that Freddie and I actually _will _end up together. Which we won't.

"He finally grew a brain," I offer.

"Try again," she says sweetly.

Scowling, I say, "What? That was a perfectly good explanation. Weasley grew a brain and realised that being - _him _isn't funny or cool. It's just stupid."

"I'm going to ignore that comment and just ask if you're friends now?" The question comes from Adelaide in a rush of excitement that makes me look at her questioningly. Usually she's so laidback yet sensible - the perfect prefect really - and she blushes. "Well, we _have _been waiting for four years for the two of you to finally bury the hatchet."

"I wouldn't say that we're friends," I reply carefully, "but his presence doesn't sicken me. That's a good start, right?"

Liv and Adelaide exchange a look and simultaneously roll their eyes. My best friend laughs. "You two are _so _friends."

In an attempt to get away from the conversation about Freddie Weasley, I declare that I'm off to Ancient Runes now and leave the two of them whispering about "ship names", mints firmly clutched in my right hand.

Most people have already walked to lessons seeing as the castle is so big which means that there aren't many people in the corridors, only the odd group of NEWT students with a free period. When I'm a corner away from the classroom, I check my watch and see that a minute has passed since lessons began. Luckily Professor Brocklehurst gives us up to three minutes past the hour for us to make it to class. Don't ask me why it's three minutes rather than five because I don't really know either.

I turn the corner, hearing the soft giggles of some girls behind me. I choose to ignore the irrational sense that it's because of me - they might not even be laughing about me and if they are, it'll probably over some stupid insult to make themselves feel better - and quicken my pace. My free hand drifts down to unbutton my bag and find my essay so I can quickly hand it in when the bottom suddenly tears open. Everything falls down in a chaotic mess, the mints along with it, and the girls burst into shrieks of glee.

With a frustrated sigh, I collapse to my knees to salvage what I can. The ink pellet that I keep just in case my pen runs out has broken into a million pieces, leaking thick black liquid onto some of my books. I snatch my notes out of the mess as quickly as I can and frantically find my essay to see if any damage has been done.

"You really should be more careful," a familiar husky tone says. I look up in disdain to see Sarah Fancourt towering above me, her friends beside her with identical little smirks on their faces.

"Piss off, Fancourt," I scoff.

"Though I suppose," she continues loudly, "that someone as poor as you can't afford quality products."

For once, I react to one of their comments. My face flushes red in both anger and embarrassment and it takes all of my strength not to leap up and rearrange her small face. So what if I struggle a little with money? It's a perfectly normal situation.

"Piss off," I repeat stiffly.

One of her friends laughs and mimics me. Fancourt herself grins in appreciation before she brandishes her wand again.

"_Incendio_."

Before I can do anything, the essay in my hands bursts into flames. An embarrassing shriek escapes my mouth as the flames burn against my palms and I toss it away from me.

_My essay._

I haven't missed a single deadline in the four years that I've been here and that's a pattern I intended to keep up, my ticket to get away from the lifestyle that girls like Fancourt mock - and _she burned it_.

Red blurs my vision. I only vaguely register scrambling for my wand and then launch myself at the Slytherin. Her friends let out identical screams and stumble backward to avoid her flailing arms. She hits the ground with a groan and I waste no time in crawling on top of her, legs straddling her body and point my wand at her throat. She freezes in fear.

My eyes harden. "_Cal_-"

But I never get to finish my hex because at that moment the door to the classroom crashes open and I'm sent sprawling backward by an invisible force. I reel from the shock, sitting up as quickly as I can to hex Fancourt to hell and back.

"WHAT ON EARTH IS GOING ON HERE?!" demands Professor Brocklehurst in a thunderous voice.

Fancourt wastes no time in concocting a lie. "Professor, I was on my way to Divination when Chamberlain _attacked _me!"

"Yeah," comes the faithful agreement of her friends.

Incredulous, I spit, "Professor Brocklehurst, that's a complete lie! I was about to come into Anci-"

"You have to believe me!" Sarah cries over me. "Didn't you see her point her wand at her throat?!"

"Because you set my essay on fire!" I shout, advancing threateningly.

My Ancient Runes teacher looks at me sharply. "Miss Chamberlain, do not take one step further or I will involve the Headmistress."

That stops me in my tracks. Taking a deep breath, I flex my fingers around my wand and figure that I don't have to be in contact with the little twit to make her hair fall out. My wand hand rises - and that's when Freddie Weasley pushes past Brocklehurst and forces said hand down. Scowling, I glare up at him and he slowly shakes his head.

Behind him, the teacher orders our class to return to their seats to copy the learning intention off the board and shuts the door with a decisive snap. She turns around, hands on her hips. "Now. What happened here? And what is all this mess on the floor?"

"Chamberlain attacked me-"

"Fancourt decided to be a-"

"Not at the same time!" she orders loudly, cutting us off. "Chamberlain, you're up first. Explain why you decided that trying to hex a student was more important than coming to lesson on time."

So I explain. In simple terms, I tell her that I was a few steps away from the door when Fancourt decided to split my bag, proceeded to insult me and then set fire to my essay. The Slytherin vehemently denies all accusations, but one look at the mess on the floor tells her that I'm not lying.

Therefore, I'm livid when I find out that I have a detention.

"But I didn't _do _anything!" I protest, straining against Freddie's tight grip on my hand. He hasn't spoken yet but has Sarah Fancourt shaking at the unforgiving look he sends her. "I was the victim-"

"Yes and Miss Fancourt would've been the victim of premature baldness if I hadn't opened the door when I did," she replies. "You were a second away from the classroom; if you had used the intelligence that I know you have, you would've informed me of what she had done instead of trying to attack her."

"It's still not fair." I cross my arms stubbornly.

She sets her steely eyes on me. "Detention. Tonight. You're going to be cleaning the Trophy Room with Mr Filch overseeing you. I expect to see you there with Miss Fancourt. Now get inside the classroom."

/

At roughly 6:30pm I can be found in the common room, arms crossed and still seething. It's not the detention that bothers me, but it's the principle behind the detention. Sarah Fancourt was the one who tore my bag apart, insulted my upbringing and proceeded to set fire to my essay. I think I was fully justified in trying to hex her stupid hair off which I didn't even manage to do.

Actually, the detention does bother me.

If I didn't actually commit the act that I'm going to be in detention for, what is the point of suffering through the detention at all? Why not give me a stern warning instead? Why punish me for being a victim?

These are the points I bring up when ranting to Liv. Reminding me why I call her my best friend, she faithfully agrees with me about the injustice of the school detention system, nodding and interjecting at the right moments. When I've nearly exhausted myself of my arguments, I flop onto my back on the sofa and glare at the ceiling.

"Sarah bloody Fancourt," I hiss furiously. "I should've hexed her when I had the chance."

"It's not your fault," reasons Olivia. "Brocklehurst threatened you with a McGonagall so there was nothing you could really do."

"I should've done it," I say gloomily, cursing my earlier moment of weakness. "They wouldn't have expelled me for hexing her hair off. They didn't kick out Harry Potter for anything _he _did."

"Yeah because they generally benefitted everyone," she answers.

"Not _everyone_. Besides, I'd be doing the world a favour by getting rid of her hair - hopefully she'd decide to move into the Hospital Wing permanently so none of us would have to look at her."

Liv smiles and pats my hand. "There, there. We could always do something later - maybe we can ask Freddie and James to convince Molly Weasley to do something?"

For a moment, I actually consider the idea. Tempted by the prospect of Fancourt finally getting her comeuppance, I open my mouth to say yes before I decide against it in the end. Knowing Molly Weasley's reputation, I'll probably end up signing my life away to her. Brocklehurst will easily connect it to me as well, with or without evidence.

"No," I sigh reluctantly. "We might as well leave it."

She frowns. "But… she insulted your family."

The reminder has me clenching my fists. Ten nails dig crescent indents into the surface of my palms and I relax my hands before blood is drawn. Expelling a long breath through my nose, I take a moment to resist the urge to hunt Fancourt down for her words. I'm not furious on my behalf - no, I want to make her eat her words for Mum. Despite not having a lot of money, she's never denied me anything and we still lead comfortable lives even if I have to hold back on wishing for things we can't afford. Mum has a magic of her own, possessing the power to bring up a child on her own, only relying on my uncle or grandma when necessary.

So the condescending tone that Fancourt used has never been more insulting.

"Fancourt doesn't know what she's talking about," I say flatly. "In ten years' time 'poor' will never be applied to me or Mum again."

Ten minutes later I finally concede that this detention isn't disappearing anytime soon and rise from my comfortable position to meet Filch in the Trophy Room. She gives me a hug to see me out and I exit the portrait hole on my own.

By the time that I arrive at the Trophy Room, Fancourt and Filch are already there. The latter sneers at me about tardiness and I promptly ignore him, dragging a bucket to the nearest trophy.

"Where are your wands?" Filch demands, extending a shrivelled hand that trembles almost imperceptibly.

Sarah Fancourt widens her eyes in horror. "You can't honestly expect us to hand over our _wands_. Th-That's barbaric."

"Barbaric?! In my day we could bind the students in shackles and let them rot in the dungeons for an hour or two-"

"Yes, well, we're not in the 16th century anymore," she says waspishly. I'm so taken aback by her response that I let out a short laugh and receive a narrow-eyed half-glance. There's a haughty tilt to her chin when she continues, "I don't see why I can't use my wand to clean the trophies."

"Because it's a punishment," snaps Filch. He wiggles his talons impatiently. "Hand the wand over or I'll report this to the Headmistress."

After her wand is placed into his open hand and he is certain that I _have _left my own with Liv like I claim to have done, Filch shuffles off into the corner and watches us like a hawk as we start polishing the awards. Since I've done this a number of times over the years, I easily get into the swing of things.

Memories of threatening to dump a bucket of soapy water onto Freddie's head and once actually doing it come to mind. I smile. Now that he's holding back on the kisses, I can appreciate what I could not prior to these two weeks. Some of our interactions actually were pretty funny even if they were anything but at the time.

However, stupid memories aren't enough to keep me calm for the duration of the detention. When I'm close to finishing my half of the room, Sarah lets out a slew of curses and I whip around to give her a dark look just for the sake of it. In the middle of righting the trophy she's working on, she curls her upper lip.

"What do you think you're looking at?" she snarls.

"I don't know," I say coldly with a thoughtful tilt of my head, "but it seems to be one of Hagrid's crossbreeds."

She flushes an angry red and advances threateningly. "Listen here, Chamberlain-"

"Shut up." She falters at the firmness of my command and I cast a sideways look at Filch to confirm my suspicions: he's fast asleep. Turning back to Sarah, I say, "Your friends aren't here, Fancourt, so there's no one to watch your back. You don't have a group of followers to convince you that I actually give a damn about your pathetic little insults."

For a tense second she stares at me in agitation and then spits, "Oh, get off your high horse, Chamberlain. I saw your face when I called you poor." Her taunting tone makes me grip the sponge in my hand tightly. "The truth hurts, doesn't it? Tell me, how does it feel to know that you have to scramble for scraps?"

I take in a deep breath. I can't hit her, I can't hit her, I can't-

"I actually pity you," she continues. "Is _that _the reason that you play so hard to get with Weasley? Because you're so convinced that when you finally agree to go on a date, you can weasel your way into the Weasley fortune? Is that how pathetic you are-"

To hell with it.

I bend down to curl my hands around the rim of the bucket at my feet. Summoning all of my strength, I pick up the heavy load, water splashing all over me, and then throw it directly at the Slytherin, a vindictive snarl escaping my mouth.

Sarah shrieks in horror. I take the opportunity to back away from her, knowing that as soon as she recovers, she won't hesitate to attack me when my back is turned. With one final look at the scene, I flee the room.

There are still a good handful of people in the common room when I trudge in. Liv looks up from her Muggle Studies textbook and her mouth falls open at the sight of me. As I storm over to her, the other three provide similar reactions. There's a moment of stunned silence when I collapse onto the sofa.

"Good detention?" James finally asks.

"Brilliant," I say scathingly.

Four pairs of round eyes observe the impatient way I push the damp curls in my eyes back. The sofa make an odd sound as I fidget from the chafing of my wet clothes and once again find myself with crossed arms.

"So what happened?" Liv wants to know.

Knowing that I'll inevitably snap if I tell the tale now, I tiredly inform her that I'll explain tomorrow. She casts a final long look my way before she retreats. James, Adelaide and Weasley take that as their cue to resume their former activities and let my anger simmer down. I watch as Longbottom opens up Witch Weekly and the idiots continue their game of Exploding Snaps.

For about five minutes we exist like that. Then the Freddie Weasley I know and loathe comes back with a bang at the wrong time.

Literally.

"For the love of Godric!" he exclaims, snatching back his hand from the volatile pile of cards.

James sends him a half-grin. "I win."

His cousin rolls his eyes and gets to his feet. "Who cares?" He leans onto the armrest closest to me and completely misses the unamused look I fire at him. "I have Lyss here to help me get over it. Don't I, Chamberlain?"

"No."

"Sure I do," he says cheerfully.

His exuberant tone draws both Adelaide and Liv out of their reading. It's like he's completely oblivious to the waves of hostility radiating from me, ignorant to the danger signs built all around my personal space. In that moment I know - I just _know _that his idiocy has returned. I should've realised that a change is too good to last.

"Er, Freddie," begins Liv warningly when he wraps an arm around my shoulder.

In a deadly tone, I say, "Weasley. Get your arm off me before I tear it off."

But he doesn't take any heed of my threats. Instead he smiles lazily as if he's doing me a massive favour. My breathing quickens as my irritation builds - not only did I have to deal with Sarah Fancourt, but now Freddie Weasley decides that he wants to flirt with me again.

"You look like you're in need of some cheering up, Lyss," he says almost consolingly. The pitying tone doesn't help the situation.

"I'm fine."

"Honestly, Freddie-"

He ignores Liv once more. "I don't know what happened with Fancourt at detention. What she said earlier on though? Well, she's _wrong_. People chat a lot of things, Lyss and some of it might be about you. And yeah, you're honestly one of the strongest people I know when it comes to these things, but it's okay if some of it affects you. You don't need to be ashamed of who you are."

But I'm not. I am far from ashamed. I am _enraged_.

It is silent as everyone tries to gauge what my reaction will be.

"Just ignore them."

If he didn't do what he did in the next few seconds, I probably would've gone to bed and let the day's events slip away with sleep. I would've gotten up the next morning, ranted to Liv a little, scowled at Fancourt across the Great Hall and dealt with the onslaught of scolding from Brocklehurst. I would've gotten over Freddie's attempt to comfort me - perhaps even appreciated it, knowing that he didn't realise that it's not something I'm comfortable with unless it's from my best friend or Mum.

But then he presses a kiss to my cheek, a few inches shy of my mouth.

And I snap.

In one fluid movement I snatch up a handful of Exploding Snap cards from the pile on the table and shove them into Freddie's mouth. He chokes, staggers backward, giving me enough room to push past him and run up the stairs before anyone can react.

The dormitory door slams shut behind me with a resounding thud.

I am alone.

* * *

**DISCLAIMER: Toblerone is a chocolate brand owned by American Mondelēz International, Inc. The chapter title "Oh Snap" is Raven Baxter's catchphrase in That's So Raven.**

**A/N: I am well aware of the fact that Alyssa's reaction is quite melodramatic and rude. But since when are teenagers anything but?**

**Also, I'd like to take the opportunity to say that updates will probably be even slower than usual in the coming months. I know I don't update weekly anyways, but I have a lot of exams and a busy summer coming up. However, I do have a couple of prewritten chapters so I will try to stay on top of things.**


	5. Backlash

**5.**

Friendship. It's a special type of bond between two people. You can't choose what family you're born into, but you can choose your friends, and if you choose well, this bond that holds two people together can last for a lifetime. Despite not being particularly popular, I know what true friendship feels like: the ties that link two lives are always there, a constant presence you're aware of in the back of your mind. There's no need to worry about severing these ties because no distance can stretch them beyond their limits, no knife is sharp enough to slice through them. Decades of time can't cause them to fray into nothingness.

Unsurprisingly, this bond is shared with Liv. It's why I swap secrets with her, why I relax around her in a way that I can't really bring myself to do with other people. It means that I don't have to worry that she'll abandon me if I do something rash without caring about the consequences.

Like, say, stuffing a few Exploding Snap cards into a certain Weasley's mouth.

However, I don't share this bond with Adelaide Longbottom. I've known her since first year and don't mind her really - saying she is a friend is not an exaggeration (saying she's a _close_ friend is, however). Compared to Freddie, she always seemed like an angel and everything she did - everything she _still _does only serves to prove this impression. She's a model student and polite is sometimes as cold as she'll go with most people - yeah, _that's_ how nice she is. Now I might not be a ray of sunshine, but even I won't shoot down someone that's so kind without a good reason to. People like Longbottom don't give reasons to hate them in the first place.

That's why I'm slightly surprised when she blatantly ignores the greeting I send her way when I pass her on the way to my bed.

"Er, Adelaide?" I say, frowning at her. I pause in the act of kicking open my trunk. "I said hi."

She stiffens at the sound of my voice. At first she doesn't answer and makes a show of putting on her robes. Then: "Yeah. I heard."

I raise an eyebrow at her cold tone. "Well. Someone woke up on the wrong side of bed."

Sometimes, I wonder whether Liv has a sixth sense because it's as if she senses the danger and within seconds, she darts over to stand in between the two of us, forgetting all about her own set of robes. She doesn't seem bothered about standing in nothing more than small shorts with the words _Holyhead Harpies _printed in curling script on her butt and a lacy burgundy bra. It's a natural development of sharing rooms with four other girls, I suppose.

"How about we get ready and then head down to breakfast?" she suggests with a bright smile as though it's a brilliant idea. "Lyssa, you can come with me…" She latches onto my wrist tightly.

I shake my head and pull away. "No. I'm fine here. I don't have a problem with anyone." Casting a searching look at Longbottom, I bend down to retrieve my robes. By the time I've straightened up, she's saying crisply,

"Oh no, that's strictly reserved for Freddie, isn't it?" Her tone is acidic. When I meet her eyes in disbelief, they're just as lethal as her voice.

"You're annoyed because of yesterday?" I say slowly as it dawns on me.

Adelaide flares her nostrils and lets out a short mocking laugh. It sounds wrong coming from her lips, a harsh scoff that drips with the same severity as before. Expertly tying her hair into a messy bun, the expression on her face matches that of someone who has stumbled across something particularly disgusting like a Flesh-Eating Slug. It's an expression usually found on the face of Sarah Fancourt or some other idiot.

"Of course I'm annoyed about yesterday," she snaps. "All Freddie tried to do was be nice and you threw it back in his face!"

Tiny ripples of guilt pass through me. I think back to last night when Freddie kissed my cheek, his touch gentle, treating me like a fragile princess an inch from fracturing. I have no doubt that he tried to be nice and didn't mean any harm - in the light of day, my actions seem a little uncalled for, melodramatic, a simple overreaction. Longbottom isn't entirely in the wrong here.

But he shouldn't have done it. Clearly, I wasn't in the right state of mind last night. Warnings were written all over my face and Liv even attempted to voice them, but he promptly ignored them as usual. He treated me like I was helpless, like a stupid kiss would give me the strength to - to do _what _exactly? Sure, I was in a foul mood yesterday. That didn't mean I was going to break down because of a couple of careless insults.

"I'm sure he was," I say, "but that doesn't mean it was needed."

When her lips thin, I am reminded of Professor McGonagall. Liv sighs in exasperation, extending each hand toward our chests just in case we pounce. Which I'm not going to do. I did enough of it yesterday.

"What Lyssa means is that though Freddie's intentions were - _admirable_, she's never been the type to accept comfort like that. It's better if you let her calm down on her own."

"That doesn't mean she can shove Exploding Snap cards into his mouth!" Adelaide cries, attracting the attention of the other two roommates. She doesn't even spare them a glance. "You can't just do anything without expecting consequences, Alyssa. That's not how the real world works."

"It was just a bunch of cards!" I exclaim over Liv's interruptions. Without really thinking about it, I advance a couple of steps and Adelaide mimics me. "I've done way worse things to him."

"Oh, and that's supposed to be reassuring, is it? You're so bloody-"

"Can the pair of you stop it?!" Liv snaps, shoving us apart roughly. "People are looking."

"Oh, who cares?" I glare over at the two girls by the window. Little Emma Evans and Mirabelle Smith don't even hide their curiosity and continue to stare our way, robes forgotten in their hands.

"See?" Adelaide says furiously. "It's this type of attitude of yours that makes me _sick_-"

At this, Liv grabs her by the shoulders. Her eyes flash. "Oi. That's my best friend you're speaking to. Now calm down." The other girl opens her mouth to say something, but she quickly cuts her off. "Frankly, I don't care. Look, both of you are acting stupidly here."

"I-"

It doesn't matter that I'm her best friend - Liv cuts me off too, a stern look accompanying her words. "Lyssa, you know that what you did to Freddie was wrong. I understand why you did it, but that doesn't mean that it's okay to hurt him."

Honestly, I didn't even push them in with much force. A couple of cards isn't exactly the Killing Curse, is it?

"And Adelaide, I understand that you're angry on Freddie's behalf, but that's his problem. This stays between the two of them. It doesn't concern the rest of us."

Longbottom doesn't agree with this apparently. She shakes her head and steps away. "I've known him ever since I was born - Freddie's my _brother. _I'm not going to pretend that everything is okay." She casts me another scornful look. "Therefore, as a Prefect, I'm taking five points of Gryffindor for your little act last night."

What the hell?

"Addie, think this-"

"Don't push me to make it ten."

With one last huff, she grabs her bag and stomps out of the dormitory. There is a moment in which everyone stares at the door and then all eyes swivel to me to catch my reaction. I shove my robes over my head more fiercely than I intend, silently seething. When I emerge, Mirabelle and Little Emma Evans are still transfixed.

"You can look away now," I hiss.

Little Emma Evans obeys, flushing in embarrassment, but Mirabelle wrinkles her nose. "Get off your high horse, Chamberlain. We don't take orders from _you_." Nevertheless, she follows her retort with a twist of her body so that her back is toward me. I glare at it.

To distract myself from the hostility brewing with me, I focus on taming my curls somewhat. They're a feature that I share with Mum who gave me the secret to managing them before I went to Hogwarts: hair mousse and lots of it. My appearance isn't something I fuss over as much as other girls sometimes do and I suppose that's because I've never considered myself to be ugly. Trust me, I'm not saying that I look like Angelina Jolie or something, simply that I'm comfortable with my appearance. Despite this, my hair will _always _be one thing to be concerned about in the morning. Frizziness should never have been brought into existence.

I put all of my effort into my hair, ignoring the voice in my head that picks up on Liv's desire to say something about the topic. Knowing that she won't breach the topic unless a) I approach it first or b) she bursts, I stay quiet.

It's not until we're in the Great Hall and I'm chewing on some toast that I concede. "You're not angry with me, are you?" I say, only moderately afraid that she is. If she is angry, she should have erupted by now. "Like Longbottom, I mean."

She sighs like a mother admonishing her child with no heart in the action, only obligation. "No, I'm not mad. I - I guess I'm disappointed."

"But he was-"

"Yeah, I know." She holds up a hand to stop me. "You don't like being mollycoddled."

"_Or_ kissed."

"Still," she continues as if she didn't hear me, "you guys were getting along so well. I thought you were finally making some progress. I really thought you had gotten over hating him."

Hatred developed into severe dislike ages ago. Part of me wants to tell her this yet I hold back, not wanting to risk her analysing why.

"It was just a couple of cards, Liv."

She doesn't respond. Her big blue eyes seem to be sad as they look at me, questioning whether I can truly believe that's the case.

Honestly? I can.

In the past, we've done a lot worse than this. Freddie's pranks with Skiving Snackboxes in first year drove me to the hospital wing multiple times until Liv ordered a deluxe package to always have the other halves for the few times Freddie refused to give his up. The week before he first kissed me included a massive argument that had me hex him into the infirmary (nothing too bad, we were only in third year after all). I've slapped him multiple times and he once shoved me into the Black Lake. Exploding Snaps are nothing.

This opinion doesn't seem to be shared.

Though Liv expressed her feelings about the matter, she faithfully sticks by my side and quickly reverts back to her sunny self, talking about her Muggle Studies lesson today. Meanwhile, James enters the Great Hall with Freddie - I catch his eyes almost immediately, but before I can even attempt to smile, he completely ignores me.

So it's like that, is it?

Idiot.

/

Having James and Longbottom ignore me doesn't bother me, honestly. It's a bit strange not to have them pop over, but then again it means that I don't have to deal with Freddie. I'm not going to lie, he has been nicer than usual for the past two weeks. After his little act last night though, I'm not sure what to expect and I'd rather not speak to him. If Longbottom and James want me to run over to apologise, they have another thought coming.

The only thing that I'm guilty about is putting Liv through this. She doesn't say anything to make me suspicious, but I _know _my best friend and I _know _that she's dying to spend a couple of minutes with one of them. She sees them as great friends.

It is this that convinces me that I need to corner James after Charms. I'd rather not to speak to Longbottom after this morning so James is definitely the better option at the moment. He gets along with Freddie the most, he'll be able to see that he's overreacting when I explain everything to him and realise that he needs to cut Liv some slack.

"Mr Potter," sighs Professor Flitwick, coming to a halt beside their table. I can only hear him over the shrieks of birds and rumbling croaks of frogs because Liv conveniently chose the table closest to them for us to sit at. "You are supposed to be working, not taking photos _again_."

As per usual, James turns on the charm. Opening his eyes wide in earnest, he says, "But Professor, your class is always the most interesting to capture. It's probably the best lesson on camera - how could I _not _take photos of what goes on here?"

I swear Flitwick inflates a little from pride. Nevertheless, he still says, "Be that as it may, you still need to practice the charm. Your camera won't get you an E in the exam!"

Freddie leans back in his seat. "Yes, Jamie. Be a good boy and listen to our dear professor." His voice sounds completely normal, save a slight lisp that might not have been there before. See? I don't know why his friends are overreacting.

As if he feels my eyes on him, his head turns to meet my eyes directly. Raising an eyebrow, I wordlessly dare him to challenge me like Longbottom has, refusing to back down. Last night was a simple overreaction - nothing bad enough to treat me like a criminal.

Apparently, Freddie agrees. A small smile graces his features and he leans further back in his seat so that his chair is balancing on two legs now. All that is keeping him upright is the firm grip he has on the table.

"You're staring at Freddie," Liv accuses. Her eyes light up in delight. "Are you going to apologise?"

"For what?" I frown. I drag my eyes away from him. "Everyone's overreacting about last night. It was a few Exploding Snap cards."

Liv rolls her eyes. "You know that it's principle behind the actions. He was comforting you and you just - snapped. They've known him since birth, of _course _they're annoyed."

"Weasley's not annoyed," I point out. Oh God, I never thought that the day I used Freddie as an example to follow would come. "I don't see why they should be."

Exasperation colours her voice. "Freddie's not annoyed because he's completely besotted with you. I've told you this a million times." And I've informed her to straighten out her facts a million times too, but she's clearly never done that. "He might even _like _it when you get annoyed."

"Of course, he does! That's the whole purpose of annoying someone, Liv."

"You know what I mean!" Her voice has risen to a level that Freddie can clearly hear. Thankfully, she realises this and lowers her voice to a hush. "He's probably attracted to it all. That's why he doesn't run in the other direction when you lose it with him."

"That's stupid."

She only smiles knowingly. Not wanting to discuss the topic any further, I tap the immobilised frog in front of me as a croak in its throat threatens to erupt out of it.

"_Silencio._"

It doesn't work.

For the rest of the lesson, we discuss the upcoming Hogsmeade trip and whether we're going to go or not. Hogsmeade is a wonderful place, but it's so small that there's nothing much to do there when you've been there so many times already. The novelty wears off a bit for some people. Though for someone like me who can only dream of living in somewhere as amazing as Hogsmeade, I don't think it ever _truly _will.

We're so distracted by our talk that we only manage to successfully silence our animals right at the end of the lesson when Flitwick hovers beside our desks. He lets us pack away with the rest of the class.

"I cannot wait to dig into some chocolate fudge cake today!" Liv exclaims as we exit the classroom behind the Entwhistle twins. Just ahead of them, James turns to go in the opposite direction from the staircase. "It's been a weird morning."

Her words remind me of my promise to corner James after class so I tell Liv to go on ahead while I make a detour to the Owlery. She offers to come with me at the same second that her stomach rumbles which only makes me laugh and push her toward the staircase.

Turning swiftly on my feet, I hurry after James. I don't actually know where he's going, only that his legs must be a mile long because he appears to be eating up the length of the corridor.

"James!" I call after him when it becomes apparent that I won't catch up to him unless I run. I'm not going to run for him. "James!"

He stops in his tracks when he hears my voice. Slowly, he turns around to face me. "What do you want, Alyssa?"

Frowning, I close the distance between us so that I can speak properly to him. "You're overreacting and it's hurting Liv."

If he's expecting anything, it isn't that. James' eyebrows shoot up into his hairline. "Sorry?"

Huffing slightly, I repeat, "You're overreacting and it's hurting Liv. I know that you're ignoring me - it doesn't take a genius to work it out - but I'd have thought that you wouldn't ignore Liv too."

James flushes pink at the accusation. "I'm not ignoring Liv. _She _didn't do anything wrong."

"Neither did I," I snap.

His mouth falls open in shock. "_You _didn't- you didn't do… Okay, Alyssa. Usually, I really like you despite the arguments you have with Freddie, but you went too far last night."

"It was a couple of cards!"

"They were Exploding Snaps!" James exclaims, throwing his hands in the air in frustration. "The whole concept behind them is that they _explode. _Randomly! You could've blown his head off!"

Anger causes my hair to rise dangerously. "Oh, come on, that's a bit of an exaggeration! Madame Pomfrey could've fixed anything that could've happened."

""I think that even she would have trouble healing a decapitated body. He scowls.

"Stop being so pathetic," I say scathingly. "You're so melodramatic. If Freddie's fine with it, I don't see why you shouldn't be."

"Of course, he's fine with it! He's a forgiving bloke when it comes to you." Suddenly, James seems to lose all of his fire. He steps back with a huff, pinching the bridge of his nose with his thumb and forefinger. Hazel eyes close before they open again with a determined glint in them. "You could've hurt him, Alyssa, and all he did was comfort you. I don't think you've realised that."

I narrow my eyes at him in response, but don't say anything, sensing that he's going to go on.

"I'm not going to ignore Liv," he says, looking at me almost sadly, "but I can't talk to you until you apologise to Freddie."

For the rest of the day, James stays true to his promise. His cold shoulder is obvious in the lessons that we share, his smiles carefully directed at Liv and only Liv. At first, she is relieved that James is still friendly to her (Adelaide, too, seems to have gotten over Liv's warning today to back away from me because she is cordial when they catch each other's eyes in class) and then I see guilt fester away at her.

"Leave it, Liv." I nudge her. She's twisting the strands of her hair again instead of pretending to concentrate on Binn's words. "I'm fine with their little game."

She shakes her head at my choice of words. "It's not fair that they're still nice to me, but ignore you."

"Yes, it is. You didn't do anything."

"It's still rude," she says firmly. "You're my best friend. I can't stand for this."

Somewhat touched by her words, I don't argue my point. Using the tip of my pen, I push the scrap piece of parchment that our game of Pictionary has taken place on. It's her turn.

Friendship. It's a bond between Liv and I that ties us together. It can't be severed by the sharpest knife in the world, can't be stretched beyond recognition or frayed by time. Silly things like shoving a few Exploding Snap cards into the mouth of Freddie Weasley won't cause us to abandon our roles. The ties between us are strong and the reminder makes me feel light inside.

The feeling stays when Brocklehurst hunts me down to lecture me severely about the importance of completing my detention and to inform me that I will write lines with her tonight. And when I leave the common room for my detention and James doesn't bother to keep the portrait open for me as he clambers back in (like he does with _everyone_), it doesn't even annoy me like he wants it to. Even when I return from the detention, massaging my right palm as I wind my way through the fifth and seventh years and spot Adelaide childishly spread out her work over the table to make it clear that I'm not welcome, the satisfaction of knowing that Liv's not going anywhere remains.

It doesn't waver at all when Freddie looks up from his work and an almost lazy smile spreads over his face. It's reminiscent of the one that precedes a stupid one-liner that makes me want to smack him. Thankfully, he stays silent.

James Potter and Adelaide Longbottom can ignore me for the rest of my life, I think confidently as I burrow under my duvet, but Liv's the only one that matters in the end.

* * *

**A/N: I'm back with another chapter! I don't know if anyone clicked on Ch2 as that was the updated one, but it basically just says that there may be minor differences in the copies of the chapters of Kiss My Lips on here and elsewhere simply because I forget to track them all. I'm going to try to keep them the same. As well as this, some chapters will have a couple of words changed/added here and there to correct some of Alyssa's background (which I have recently re-explored).**

I would also like to take the opportunity to worn you that tensions run HIGH in the next chapter. There will be an important author's note on the bottom of it too that I'd like everyone to read because it will explain something.

Reviews are always welcome!

Until next time,

**elixirsoflife xo**


	6. The End

**6.**

The library is a sanctuary for people like me. People that aren't natural fliers or champions at wizards' chess or avid members of the Gobstones Club, I mean. People that like to read because it's one of the best pastimes in a place like Hogwarts where electricity is a mere myth and the TV is simply an amusing Muggle invention. It's a haven to retreat to when your best friend decides to try her hand at the more difficult potions in the textbook, a faded note signed by Professor Chambers to flash at any Prefects that demand to know what she's doing.

This year, I find that I spend less time reading for my pleasure and more time researching. Small stacks of heavy textbooks that need referencing and sheets of old essays written in scrawled handwriting that take hours to decipher fill up my corner. Not one fictional novel is in sight. All that covers the surface of the table are pieces of loose parchment, pens and rather boring books.

Admittedly, the library has been my haven in more ways than one in the last couple of days. Not only is it a quieter place to relax in, it also lets me get away from Adelaide Longbottom, James Potter and Freddie Weasley. The first two are still annoyed with me if the way they blatantly ignore me suggests anything. Weasley, however, is not. He sends me crooked smiles and catches my eye more times than I count, his posture not hostile in any shape or form. He never approaches me though he'll only keep it up for so long.

I don't want to see the three of them all the time. Since I've conveniently scheduled my studying during the Gryffindor Quidditch practice and a Prefect meeting, it means that Freddie and Longbottom aren't in the library and James will be off doing God knows what over at God knows where.

At the moment, I am taking a break from the studying with the help of Mum's latest batch of cupcakes. Mum has a natural affinity for baking - her desserts are so delicious that they're sold out half of the time at Uncle Damien's - and really, it's no wonder that I'm not a size four when she's sending them over. Not that I'm complaining though. Happily ignoring my Ancient Runes essay, I pick apart the chocolate cupcake and pop the pieces in my mouth.

My mother is a goddess.

After enjoying a couple more, I decide that it's high time to hunt Liv down and offer her some. She lives for Mum's deliveries and it's just the thing she needs - willingly spending time in the dungeons can't be good for anyone.

Looking around to make sure that Madame Pince isn't nearby, I tuck the box into my bag and sort out the mess on the table. I need the diagrams for Herbology, the half-finished Ancient Runes essay, the DADA homework. The same can't be said for the Pictionary paper and the first attempt at the diagram, however.

I walk through the aisles of the library, tucking back the research books where they belong. A deep breath allows the calming scent of dusty tomes to fill me up inside, the lingering aroma of ink and parchment causing all of the tension from the past couple of days to go away.

Like I said, the library is a sanctuary for people like me. Quiet. Peaceful when my life is anything but.

When I leave the library, I descend the floors until I reach the dungeons. There aren't many people around here except for the odd Slytherin so my journey is undisturbed. Once I reach Dungeon Six, I push open the door and peer inside.

Heat crashes over me like a tidal wave, making my robes stick to my skin within seconds. I contemplate turning back and finding a secluded corner to stay by myself somewhere - maybe the roof of the Astronomy tower where the wind can cool me down...but the idea of walking all the way to the other end of the castle isn't very appealing either.

Liv looks up at the sound of the door snapping shut. A thin smile flits across her exhausted face.

"Hey," she says, her voice cracking from hours of disuse.

"How have you not passed out yet?" I reply, shrugging off my robes. Liv's already down to the loose top and thermal tights she wore underneath her uniform today, sweat sticking the stray strands of her hair to the back of her neck and forehead. I'm in a similar state minus the beads of sweat and the vest.

"I know, it's boiling in here," she agrees, peering at the textbook in front of her. "It says here that I need to leave it for another...five minutes before I can lower the temperature."

"What are you making?" I ask, hopping onto the nearest desk.

"The Draught of Peace," she answers breathlessly. "I figure we're going to need lots of it for when the O. prep really hits. Tears will be everywhere."

"Speaking of tears," I say, opening my bag, "you're going to cry tears of joy when you see these beauties." With a flourish, I produce the cupcakes Mum sent.

The look Liv fixes the cupcakes with is nothing short of unadulterated lust. I am not even joking. "I think I love your Mum," she says hoarsely.

"She is a goddess," I inform her.

"She really is."

Liv feasts upon a few cupcakes while we wait for the five minutes to pass. After this, she just needs to add the syrup of hellebore and then we're free to leave this hell. We complain thoroughly about the stifling heat and how we'll both need to have showers once we escape, maybe even two for Liv.

"Do you reckon I can sneak into the Prefects' bathroom?" she asks cheerfully. "I've heard that it's amazing."

"Definitely," I say, picking up the timer. One minute left. "We have a right to that bathroom. Making it the Prefects' bathroom is blatant favouritism. We have to take a stand against that."

"Yeah!" Liv exclaims. "I don't see why they are given the perks when I'm just as good a student as Adelaide. Maybe _you _shouldn't have the privilege to use it considering the trouble _you _get into with Freddie, but people like me deserve it."

When I pretend to glower at her, she laughs.

"You're not even funny."

"I'm hilarious."

She leans over me to grab her wand as the timer goes off with a shriek and expertly waves it. Instantly, the waves of heat radiating from the cauldron dissipate and the cold of the dungeons slowly sets in.

"Syrup of hellebore," she requests, holding out her right hand expectantly.

Recalling all of the scenes on TV that depict situations just like this, I slap the small bottle into her hand and repeat its name in a solemn tone that contrasts with my smile. I watch as Liv adds a couple of drops into the cauldron, causing it to turn a pale yellow.

"It worked!" she exclaims happily.

"Hallelujah."

While Liv ladles the draught into identical vials, I slip my robes back on. Even though it's still way too hot in my opinion, it's probably not a good idea to parade around Hogwarts in a pair of thermal tights and a sports bra. Especially with people that hate me on the loose.

Once we are out of the dungeons, our first priority is to shower. We don't break into the Prefects' bathroom, retreating into our dormitory instead. Smith and Evans are there, sitting cross-legged on one of their beds with the latest copy of _Witch Weekly_ magazine in front of them. When we enter, they scrunch up their nose from the smell, but wisely choose not to comment.

"Hey, Creevey," they greet cordially instead.

"Hi, guys," Liv says with a smile.

As she talks to them for a couple of minutes, I head into the bathroom to hop into the shower. Though it appears to be a small space, one of the great things about magic is that things can be a lot bigger than they seem. The wooden fixtures and dim lighting makes the bathroom seem quaint as well as small, but it's actually quite modern.

I peel out of my robes and enter the cubicle at the far end. My hand reaches for the hot water button and it rains down upon me in a torrent, scorching in its touch. I adjust the knob accordingly and then use another knob to have large pink bubbles float down as well. Floral scents surround me, comfortingly fresh.

For perhaps a quarter of an hour, I allow the hot water to massage my back, washing away all of the tense knots. Tipping my head back allows steady streams of water to wind through my hair and plaster it to the back of my neck, breathes life back into my curls and the frizz that comes hand in hand with it.

Since I've forgotten to bring my own products with me, I reach for the ones that Hogwarts provides. They're not amazing, but they do their jobs well enough. Not for the first time, I breathe a small thanks for the unwritten rule in our dormitory: no matter how much you might hate someone, you never ever tamper with the shower products. It's just not acceptable.

Liv's still showering when I slip out of the bathroom wrapped in nothing but a white fluffy towel. The other two continue to pour over _Witch Weekly_, laughing as they do one of the quizzes. We ignore each other as I walk past them to get to my trunk.

I change into a thick-knit oversized top and another pair of thick tights and start on a letter to Mum. I only ever write directly to Mum because my grandparents are both terrified of birds - all Grandpa ever says about it is that one of their dates went terribly wrong - and Uncle Damien hates all animals. This means that they refuse to approach the school owls and prefer to send their messages along Mum and vice versa. I'm in the midst of the letter when Liv finally decides to come out of the bathroom. She heads straight toward her bed, shivering at the cold that settles in.

"Liv?" I say, rolling onto my side to look at her.

"Hmm?"

"Do you want to get out of the tower for a bit? You know, just wander 'round."

She cocks her head to the side like a little kid, pursing her lips in thought. She wonders out loud, a tease in her voice, "Hm. Do I want to stay in the tower and complete that ten mark question for History of Magic that's due in for tomorrow or do I want to have fun? It's a difficult decision."

"We both know that you're going to do it at lunch tomorrow," I say, sitting up. "You hate History of Magic."

She breaks out into a guilty grin. "Wandering around it is!"

As quickly as she can, she changes into some warm clothes to combat the cold - acid wash, skinny jeans and a thick, black jumper - while I grab my cloak and we make our way out of the dormitory.

"What time is it?" I ask. I keep my eyes focused on the portrait hole, not wanting to see ruin my good mood with the sight of Longbottom, James or Freddie.

Liv glances at the small Muggle watch on her left wrist. "Seven twenty."

"We have plenty of time until curfew," I say breezily, clambering out of the portrait hole. "If we stay out a bit later than that, it'll be fine."

Liv pretends to suck in an incredulous gasp. "Did I hear what I think I did? _Alyssa Chamberlain_ is willing to break curfew? Oh, the world has ended!"

I narrow my eyes playfully. "First you say that I don't deserve to use the Prefects' bathroom because I get into too much trouble and now you act as if I'm a stickler for the rules. Make up your mind, woman."

She giggles.

For the next half an hour or so, we explore the castle even though we've discovered a good chunk of it already. I remember the games of tag we used to play when we were younger, running through empty corridors and revelling in the glorious world of magic. We've grown out of those days now so we just admire the architecture and grandeur of the place.

"Lets sit down somewhere," I finally suggest. My legs ache from walking so much and rest sounds pretty heavenly right now. "Maybe the Astronomy tower or something."

Liv nods in agreement. "Do you want to get some food from the kitchens first? We can make it a date." She adds a wink and a cheesy grin onto this statement.

I roll my eyes. "Sure."

We're somewhere on the sixth floor at this point and so it takes us a good few minutes to get all the way down to the kitchens since it's below the ground floor. On the way there, Liv tries her hand at singing; it's awful. I'm too busy laughing to beg her to stop, clutching my stomach because it hurts so much. My face feels like it's about to split open from smiling so wildly and it feels refreshing.

I've been tense for the past couple of days, swinging from rage at Sarah Fancourt to disbelief at Longbottom's outburst to annoyance because James was ignoring Liv to unease at the prospect of (inevitably) facing Freddie. Not to mention all of the stress from O. .

Right now though? I just feel normal.

"Would you like to do the honours or shall I?" Liv asks solemnly when we reach the entrance. I roll my eyes at her dramatic antics and reach over to tickle the pear.

God, that sounds weird.

As usual, we are bombarded by house elves the instant we step in. I remember the first time we came here - Freddie was trying to impress me with his knowledge of the castle and James came along for the food - had left me in shock at how eager the house elves were to serve people. I have never seen anyone more joyful at the thought of doing chores.

"What's your name?" Liv kindly asks the nearest house elf to her.

"Pepper, miss!"

"Well, Pepper, is it possible if we have...four bottles of Butterbeer, please? Oh, and a nice big bowl of chocolate ice cream?"

Pepper the house elf's face glows in excitement and within an instant, she's speeding off to whip up some ice cream. One of the other house elves runs forward with an armful of Butterbeer bottles; I take it off him with an awkward "thank you".

Truth be told, house elves have always made me a little uncomfortable. Liv's always perfectly at ease with them - then again, Liv's relaxed with anyone who doesn't have the surname McLaggen so maybe she doesn't count - but I can't quite shake off how their eagerness to serve disturbs me. It's a horrible thought, but I can see why wizards got away with abusing them for so long. House elves seem to think that it's the greatest honour to serve someone until they're physically incapable of doing anymore.

With an air of great triumph, Liv takes the large bowl of chocolate ice cream and we leave the kitchen with the house elves' reassurances that we can stop by anytime following us as we go.

After a long minute, I finally say, "I don't understand how they can be so-"

"Helpful?" Liv's suggestion is accompanied by an impish grin. "Gosh, Lyssa, not everyone's as selfish as you."

I narrow my eyes at her. "I'm not selfish," I mutter. "I just don't understand _why _you'd _want _to do manual labour all of the time."

"It's in their nature," she says serenely. Sometimes, the way she speaks so knowledgeably about the Muggle world makes me forget that she's just as in touch with the magical one. After all, she did grow up in a world I was only introduced to a few years ago. "They don't know any different."

"But it's still-" I struggle for the right words.

"Things have gotten a lot better for them, you know. In Dad's time, it was a common occurrence for house elves to be wrapped up in bandages."

"I know that," I say. "Before Hermione Weasley pushed for their basic rights, they were treated like vermin. You'd think that with those basic rights, they'd want to take a break and maybe petition for more."

She shakes her head. "I told you, it's in their nature. You can't change that."

By the time we finish debating about whether house elves will ever wake up and smell the roses (Liv insists that this is a rather blunt way of talking about something I fail to understand every single time it's mentioned), we've reached the Astronomy Tower without even discussing it. Technically, it's forbidden except for classes, but you'd think that if that's the case, there'd be better defences.

"Roof?" Liv suggests, balancing the bowl on her hip, the crook of her elbow keeping it in place. She points with her free hand at the small overhang jutting out above the doorway.

"Sure," I say and place all of the Butterbeer bottles down on the ground.

Even though I've climbed it multiple times over the years, there's always some part of me that needs a little cajoling before I can convince myself to climb up onto the goddamn thing. I'm very much the type of girl that prefers both feet on the ground, but the view from the roof is too alluring to resist. Even though said view is perfectly accessible from the actual stone floor of the tower, there's something about sitting on a roof that makes it seem more special.

"Take your time!" Liv's cheery voice drips with sarcasm.

Rolling my eyes, I stand on my tiptoes and grab onto the edge of the overhang, pulling myself up as I struggle to find my footholds. My arms scream in protest, but in less than a minute, I'm up onto the roof, panting slightly with a couple of stray tendrils of hair hanging in my face.

"Maybe I should get fitter," I breathe, searching for my wand. "Or ask Mum to stop sending so many treats over."

Liv sends me a scandalised look. "No."

Snorting in laughter, I point my wand at the glass bottles on the floor, looking oddly lonely with no one to hold them. "_Accio Butterbeer_!"

Liv shrieks as all four bottles fly toward us and we both lunge wildly, grabbing as many as we can. Two crash against the tiles of the roof, golden liquid splashing everywhere.

"Waste of good Butterbeer," she mutters mournfully, shaking her head.

"Oh, well." I shrug.

We share a look and then burst into loud laughter. By the time we've finished, my sides hurt and it takes me several tries for my spell to be coherent enough to clean up the mess I made. Sighing in contentment, I lean back and pop the cork of one of the Butterbeer bottles. One swig of the drink causes warmth to shoot through me, chasing away the Scottish chill.

"I like days like this," Liv declares, mimicking my position. I can only nod in agreement. "This year has been so stressful that sometimes we forget to just enjoy life."

"It's because the teachers have a competition on who causes a student to breakdown first," I say in a very matter-of-fact tone.

She laughs. "I wouldn't put it past them."

We sip some more at our Butterbeer before Liv maneuvers the bowl of ice cream onto both of our laps, half of it resting on my right leg, the other on her left thigh. Glancing down at it, I can see that the house elves have outdone themselves yet again. Liberal scoops of chocolate ice cream have been carefully deposited in the bowl and drizzled with thick chocolate syrup. Pepper has sprinkled grated chocolate over the mounds and then carefully placed slices of strawberries amongst the sugary goodness. It's Liv's dream.

"I love Pepper," she says passionately. "Do you think I can convince Dad to buy her?"

I simply roll my eyes in response. Though the Creeveys aren't a poor family, there's only so much pay cheques from the Prophet will get you and a Hogwarts house elf is not included in that.

"What are we waiting for? Lets dig in!"

* * *

Sleep is beckoning me into its welcoming arms when I shoot upright in bed, my heart thumping wildly in my chest. For a long moment, I am completely blind in the darkness and glance around with wide eyes, trying to see as much as I can...and gradually, the shapes of the other four beds take shape.

Damn Adelaide Longbottom for buying those curtains for the windows.

With a soft groan, I roll out of bed, digging my wand out from under my pillow. I cast a quick "_lumos_" and get onto my knees to search for the reason I'm awake. There, tucked into my textbook for the class, is my unfinished essay for Ancient Runes. The one that Sarah Fancourt casually set on fire. In all of my fun with Liv, I forgot completely about it.

Sighing, I dig out a pen from inside my school bag and gather the three possessions in my hand. My wand hand held out in front of me to light the way, I creep over to the door and slip downstairs to the common room.

The common room is completely empty when I descend the staircase, but the fireplace still hosts a roaring fire. Warmth blazes over me, even from this distance, and I start toward it without a second thought.

BANG.

Shrieking, I drop my book to the floor and whip round to point my wand toward the source of the sound. Approaching the largest sofa cautiously, I keep my ears strained for another sound.

"Fuck…"

Relief floods through me, quickly replaced by annoyance and embarrassment. There's no danger here. None at all.

"What are you doing here, Weasley?" I say calmly, stepping closer to the sofa. I peer over the edge of it to look at the fallen boy.

At the sound of my voice, Freddie scrambles up to his feet. He runs a hand through his disheveled hair. "I was - was finishing my Care of Magical Creatures assignment. And fell asleep." He stifles a yawn with his free hand.

"Right."

I can only look at him. Freddie doesn't seem to have a problem with this because he meets my hard stare easily, dark brown eyes tired but steady. Abruptly, I remember that I've been more or less avoiding him and that the last time we spoke ended with a couple of viciously placed Exploding Snap cards and a quick dash up to my dormitory.

I avert my eyes. Something like a laugh escapes his lips.

"So what are you doing here, then?" he asks.

"Ancient Runes," I say curtly, turning around to retrieve my book. Not looking at him, I stride over to it, bend down and pick it up.

"What, we didn't get any home…" His voice trails off as he recalls the incident in the corridor. "Oh."

"Yeah. Oh." The two monosyllabic words hold more venom than I intend.

When I look back at Freddie, his expression is confused. He makes his way around the sofa so that he can lean back against it and still fix me with an inquisitive look that instantly has me throw my defences up. "Did I do something?"

For some reason, I flush.

No, he hasn't done anything, but I really don't want to speak to him right now. Speaking to him only reminds me of the gentle press of his lips, the way he treated me like a bloody princess and of the fact that James and Adelaide still insist on overreacting. It reminds me that Sarah Fancourt probably dislikes me because Freddie doesn't notice her and that my essay is ruined because of _him _if you think about it that way. Technically, you could say that _he's_ the reason I'm up at this time.

"No."

He appraises me for a long moment. "Okay…" After another moment, he gestures to the textbook in my hand. "Do you want any help with that? Brocklehurst said that I did fairly well and I could give you some tips-"

"I don't know what you think about me, Freddie," I say scathingly, instantly firing up. As if Ancient Runes isn't my best subject! As if I need to constantly be helped by him! "But I'm pretty sure that I know how to write an essay. So no, I don't want any _help _with it, never mind help from _you _out of all people."

And then something quite unexpected happens.

Freddie responds angrily.

"And what's that supposed to mean, Alyssa? Why is it that every time I try to do something nice for you, you throw it back in my face?"

I recoil in shock and then recover just as quickly. I scoff since I am well within my element. Shooting down Freddie Weasley is something I'm an expert on, something I've been hardened to do over the past few years. When he constantly humiliates you, you learn how to fight back.

"Oh, so you were just trying to be _nice _when you kissed me all of those times?"

Frustration causes him to flush too. "That's not what I meant and you know it! Every single time anyone but Liv reaches out to you, you shoot them down. And you always shoot me down even worse than you do with everyone else. There's independence, Alyssa, and then there's just being _rude_."

"Of course, I shoot you down!" I exclaim. "Am I supposed to like you or something?"

"YES. That's what friends do, Alyssa! They actually _like _each other and they don't treat the other person like dirt."

"We're not friends," I hiss, angrily advancing a few steps. "We were never _friends_, Weasley. All you did for the first two years at Hogwarts was try to annoy me and all you've done for the rest of our time here is try to kiss me. I don't know what you think it is, but I sure as hell know that that is not friendship, you insufferable git."

His face darkens. "Maybe," he says fiercely, "maybe if you got your head out of your arse, you'd see it for what it really is. Maybe if you stopped putting me down for two seconds, you'd-"

When I cut across him with a laugh, it's harsh and derisive, even to my own ears. "Oh, so we've finally discovered the root of the problem. Poor Freddie Weasley can't handle having one person in this goddamn castle that couldn't care less about his surname."  
_  
"Don't talk about things you know nothing about!"_

I brush my hair out of my face impatiently. "Oh, why don't you go and choke on some Exploding Snaps?"

He explodes. "What the hell is wrong with you? You know that I didn't care about the Snaps! I realised that I might've overstepped the mark-"

"Might've? _Might've?_"

"-so when James and Adelaide were ranting about how you never treat me with respect and how you're not worth it, I defended you."

"Oh, for God's sake! Am I supposed to run into your arms now? THIS ISN'T A RELATIONSHIP, FREDDIE. I don't need you to defend my honour!"

"This isn't _about that!_ This is about how you never fail to treat me like - like _shit_ regardless of what I do and what I mean to you!"

"What you mean to me?" I'm almost hysterical now. My left hand clutches my textbook tightly, but it's practically forgotten in the red haze of anger. "Can't you get it in your thick head? You don't mean anything to me. I'm _not _going to date you, I'm _not _going to kiss you back and I'm _not _going to change just so that your ego feels better."

"My ego? My ego? Alyssa, you have the biggest ego I've ever seen! I used to think that it was okay - that it was _brilliant_, even, because at least it was something different - even when you were smacking me-"

"You're making me out to be the bad guy."

Freddie takes a couple of steps forward until he's right in front of me. I can see his chest heaving, feel his harsh breath on the top of my head as I tilt it upward to meet his dark eyes in defiance. He has never looked less like him in that moment and I have never given less of a damn about what it means.

"Aren't you? Sometimes you are. You insult me, constantly hit me, deny that there's anything between us, even basic friendship."

"Because there's nothing between us! All you do is force yourself upon me over and over again. And you know what, Freddie, it's actually quite fucking terrifying because if you can easily try to force me to kiss you hundreds of times, who is to say that you're not above something worse?"

Silence.

He's speechless and looks more hurt than he would ever be from one of my legendary smacks. The words hang in the air, waiting for me to snatch them back because I don't mean them - not really. If I am ever honestly asked about whether I think Freddie is capable of such a monstrous act, I won't hesitate to say no.

But I don't tell him that.

He staggers backward away from me, his face crumpling. Almost desperately, his head bows, refusing to look at me, lips parted as he breathes in jagged gasps for air. When he lifts it back up, his expression is nothing short of livid.

"You actually think that I'd d-do that?" His voice is a deathly quiet rasp. I don't answer. "You honestly think that low of me?"

I still don't answer.

"God, Alyssa, that's so - that's so _messed _up. I don't think you realised what you just said." He laughs bitterly, shaking his head. "You know what? I can't believe it. Everyone was right. You can be such a _bitch_, Alyssa."

The taunt has been flung at me from so many people countless times. Yet hearing it fall off Freddie's tongue makes me flinch.

"I'm done."

He spins away from me, something like a snarl or a smothered scream of anguish ripping from his throat. Kicking the sofa with a loud curse, he storms over toward the stairs and disappears around the corner. I don't even react, can't protest against it. It's as if my throat has closed up forever. So I simply stand in the middle of the common room, knowing that this is it.

This is the end.

* * *

**AUTHOR'S NOTE: ****PLEASE READ THIS. VERY IMPORTANT.**

**First of all, I guess I'd like to make sure that no one thinks that I intend to make something as serious as rape (because yes, it was alluded to in the argument) into nothing. It's a serious crime and people shouldn't make light of it and accuse someone of being capable of that when they don't actually believe that. Unfortunately, some teenagers actually do that. I'm young so I know this. I've seen others do this a few times. I'm not justifying Alyssa's words, but I'm saying that - for some horrid reason - it's not as uncommon as it should be.**

**On the other hand, her claims are not completely unfounded. Yes, she knows that Freddie isn't capable of such a thing - but not every person is like Freddie. There are some guys and girls out there that don't see much of a difference between trying to kiss someone and trying to force themselves onto them in worse ways. Alyssa can be harsh, yes, but Freddie needs to be brought back to reality.**

**I ask that you don't be mad at me. I'll admit that when I started writing this story, it was going to be lighter than this. But I don't think I can consciously update this and wave away Freddie's actions without a guilty conscience. Make no mistake, I will be writing and updating this, but it's going to take a bit of a turn before it continues to the end destination.**

**That being said, I don't know when I'll next get to update this. My summer is going to be extremely busy and I'll be going away for a few weeks as well.**

**(Also I don't know how the Draught of Peace is made. I just made up those two steps. Thought I'd throw that out there just in case there's steps somewhere.)**

**elixirsoflife**


	7. Of Presents and Pride

**7.**

I have done some stupid things in the past.

When I was four, I was on a playdate at the park with a boy named Jack who lives down the street from me. He said that I was too chicken to jump into the pond, too scared to get a little wet, so I promptly dragged the two of us in. It was January.

When I was six, I climbed the biggest tree in the playground as part of an adventure game. I was halfway up it before I realised that I much preferred the ground. My solution? To let go of the tree. I ended up with a broken ankle, a tearful mother and an exasperated father.

When I was eight, I stood in the shadows and watched enviously as all of the other kids made cards for their dads on Father's' Day. The words that I had heard my own father hurl at my mother once long ago rang in my ears and I ran into the girls' bathroom, finally understanding what had happened. I watched the photo of him that I'd carried with me for two years burn in the palm of my hand.

(I never thought that the first degree burns were the stupid part. It was the fact that I had clung onto his memory for two whole years.)

So I am no stranger to bouts of stupidity. It's how I know that my argument with Freddie was one of them. I don't know why I said some of those things - he just makes me so angry sometimes. There's something about him that irks me and it all exploded two weeks ago.

Unfortunately, this has not escaped the attention of every other Hogwarts student. I suppose that it has become something of a common occurrence to see Freddie hit on me and me hit him in response, so much so that its absence is duly noted. Of course, the rumours have gone crazy in an attempt to explain why.

Some people simply think that Freddie's lost all interest in me. Others maintain that I've been feeding him a love potion for the past two years and he's finally broken the spell. I heard a Ravenclaw remark the other day that she personally saw us leave the Astronomy Tower together, robes in a disarray, hair mussed and assumes that we "sorted out the sexual tension once and for all" and don't want anymore contact after that.

No one except Freddie and I know the truth. No matter how much she's bugged me, I haven't told Liv about the harsh words we exchanged in the common room and I assume Freddie's done the same with James and Adelaide because neither of them have attempted to hex me into oblivion.

Because I haven't told her, Liv's in a strop and I have to walk alone to breakfast. Whatever. It's better than her knowing what really went down.

"Ahem," a high voice interrupts my train of thought as I saunter down the corridor. "Um, Alyssa Chamberlain?"

I pause and pivot back to eye the owner of the voice. A group of four first years are behind me, looking especially tiny in their large black robes. The red edging shows that they're in Gryffindor, but I don't remember seeing them before.

"Yes?"

The only boy of the group steps forward and tilts his head up to look at me. He hesitates and then says, "You didn't actually feed Freddie Weasley a love potion, did you?"

Seriously?

Not even bothering to reply, I turn back round and continue to walk toward the main staircase, ignoring the frantic cry of "wait!" and the pitter patter of feet behind me. Breathing heavily, the boy skids to a stop in front of me, holding out his hands in the universal sign for stop or surrender whichever way you choose to look at it.

"I didn't mean to offend you," he says. I consider pushing him aside. "I don't think that you fed him a love potion."

"Nice to know," I say dryly. "Now, I kind of want to get to the Great Hall so please get out of my way." I make a shooing motion.

"Can you just confirm something?" he asks desperately. My eyes fall into slits. Nevertheless, I impatiently gesture for him to continue. "There's a bit of a bet going on and - well - you were dating him, right? I mean, you've just gotten into an argument with him, haven't you? Because we all saw how you used to mess around-"

"I wasn't messing around," I cut across him icily. "I've never dated Freddie Weasley, not that it's any of your business either way. So if that's all you want, then get out of my way."

Not waiting for him to comply, I walk around him and turn the corner closest to the staircase. I can still hear the first years behind me as they hurry to catch up. I quicken my pace on the stairs.

"But he told us that you dated," the boy is protesting as he stumbles after me.

"Yeah!" one of the girls chimes in. "He told us at the end of September when we asked him! And we saw him sleeping on your lap before the game against Ravenclaw!"

I scowl.

This is what I get for being nice.

"I don't care what Freddie told you," I say, still not looking at them. "I don't care what you think you saw-"

"I know he was sleeping on your lap, I don't just think it!"

"-and I don't care about any of the goddamn rumours flying around. I never was and never will be Freddie Weasley's girlfriend. Now, if you're going to continue to annoy me, I think it's only fair that I use you guys to make sure that I can cast the Vanishing Spell properly, don't you think?" They fall silent as I finger my wand meaningfully. "That's what I thought."

Thankfully, they finally get the message and leave me be. I walk into the Great Hall alone, spot Liv about halfway down the Gryffindor table and make a beeline for her. She glances up as I sit down and returns to her bacon wordlessly.

"Seriously?" I sigh exasperatedly. "You're still annoyed?"

"Yes," she says simply.

"It's not even that important."

"If that was the case, you would've told me by now." She fixes me with an unimpressed stare that I return. "I thought you were my best friend and best friends tell each other everything."

I cannot believe she tried to pull that card. "Don't try that, Liv. I don't understand why you're so bothered."

"Because something happened," she says frustratedly, "and I don't know what it is. Before this incident you won't tell me about, it was only James and Adelaide that were annoyed with you. Freddie was still making eyes at you-"

"Making eyes at me?"

"-and I saw you looking at him too. Now, the two of you can't stand to look at each other. That won't have just happened. So what caused it?" I open my mouth to deny it once again. "And don't you dare deny it."

With that warning in mind, I close my mouth and busy myself with breakfast instead. I grab the first appealing thing that I see and end up with a bowl of strawberries.

"I won't judge you, you know," she says softly. "You can tell me."

"I don't want to," I say quietly.

Maybe it's the lack of my usual snarkiness that makes her nod thoughtfully and back off. I'm glad about that. Liv might be my best friend, but I know that she would give me hell for my comment - not that it's completely unfounded. Freddie really doesn't understand the concept of "no", something that is actually pretty concerning. So I'm not entirely in the wrong.

It's with this reassurance in mind that I cheerfully devour the strawberries in the bowl, hunting the biggest, juiciest ones first before progressing to the smaller ones.

"What do we have first?" Liv asks when some of the teachers begin to rise from their seats.

"History of Magic."

We both groan at the same time. As always, History of Magic is the most boring lesson on the curriculum. The school still see no reason to get rid of Binns and hire someone who can actually teach. I maintain that it's to keep labour costs down - I mean, there's no way that they're paying a ghost, is there? What's he going to buy with the gold? A nice coffin?

Even when we're learning something interesting, he still manages to make it boring. We left behind the goblin riots in fourth year and have progressed onto learning about the Wizarding Wars because the Ministry of Magic wants everyone to learn it. Since few people dare to take History of Magic at NEWT standard, we learn it in depth during fifth year. Binns still makes it seem like the dryest subject in the world.

Really, he has a magic all of his own.

Maybe they should've dealt with Voldemort by having Binns follow him around, drone on about the goblin riots and drive him mad. After all, you can't kill a ghost, can you? The only solution would be admitting defeat and handing yourself in.

I probably shouldn't joke about such serious topics.

On the way there, Liv complains about Binns' teaching style and how he never bothers to learn anything about his students. I know that the reason she puts so much gusto into it is to tell me that she's (finally) willing to move past my argument with Freddie. It's her weird way of saying that she's there for me without actually saying it.

When we enter the classroom, there's already a few people in there. As luck would have it, three of them currently hate my guts. Adelaide and James glance up when we walk past them and promptly ignore me, choosing to send their trademark smiles at Liv. She nods in reply and leads me to the back. Freddie doesn't react at all.

Of course, I expect this. After all, he's "done" with me, isn't he?

People gradually filter into the classroom, taking whichever seat pleases them best. At last, Binns floats in through the blackboard, an occurrence so common in this castle that no one bats an eyelid, and resumes from where he left off last lesson.

His charming drone drags me into a stupor. Never strong enough to endure a History of Magic lesson and listen to Binns' lectures, I only occasionally jerk out of my daydream to scribble down a couple of dates or details. Most of the time, I teach myself about the events later on so that I can pass the exam and then let Liv copy out the notes.

I let my mind wander to the Christmas holidays. I've never spent a Christmas at Hogwarts, but it's something Liv and I agreed to do in our seventh year. This year, I am going back home to spend it with my family. I have to admit that I'm pretty excited - I haven't seen Mum in months and can't wait to. Christmas is actually a really enjoyable time in our family. You know exactly what to expect each year, but you can never grow tired of the festivity.

The presents are pretty good too, I think, fiddling with my charm bracelet fondly.

My train of thought abruptly reminds me of one thing: I haven't bought any presents yet. Frowning at this, I rip a piece of parchment off the bottom of my roll and quickly scribble down a note to Liv.

Is the Hogsmeade trip on this weekend?

She glances down at it and then replies: Yeah. Are we going?

I pause, chewing on the end of my pen. Though I want to hang out with her, I still have to buy her present and can't afford to let her see what it is.

We'll walk down together, but then you have to disappear because I still need to buy your present.

She snorts. "Oh, I'm really feeling the love," she whispers.

I roll my eyes. "We'll meet up after I buy everything."

"Yeah, yeah." She waves a hand dismissively and I take it as my cue to let my mind wander again.

/

The teachers at Hogwarts are cruel and vicious. Most would lessen the workload slightly, knowing that Christmas is coming up and honouring the festive season by taking pity on us. However, they've done the opposite. As soon as the notice for the next Hogsmeade trip went up, all of them assigned even more homework than they usually do to let us know that while the trip might be fun, the rest of the weekend is going to be depressing.

Not for the first time, I curse my dedication.

Even Binns has assigned homework! Which I still don't understand because it's not physically possible for him to mark it. Come to think of it...how does he mark it?

Closing my eyes in frustration, I rub against my temples in tiny circles, trying to assuage the headache that has been slowly worsening over the past twenty minutes. I know that it's a product of wading through the mountain of assignments on the table and sleep deprivation, but I only have one more question to finish and I can sleep like the dead until tomorrow morning.

Stifling a yawn, I gaze down at the textbook with blurry eyes.

The final year of the Second War has been unanimously accepted to be the worst. Though the self-entitled Lord Voldemort, or You-Know-Who as he was more commonly called, had been in the open for a year already, the murder of Albus Dumbledore and the subsequent capture of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry became a symbol for the dark days of oppression. Muggleborns had been facing some stigma by pureblood supremacists in the years that preceded His return, but now faced uncontrolled persecution. Unsuspecting first years with "dirty blood" were captured upon their arrival at the school and killed. It is still not known how many suffered this fate.

Many Muggleborn students in the older years had predicted their fate and opted not to return, but went into hiding instead. The most famous of these is Hermione Granger (now Weasley), a counterpart of what is known as 'the Golden Trio', who was on the run with Harry Potter and Ronald Weasley. It remains largely unknown what happened in those months; Harry Potter had falsely been branded Undesirable Number 1 and the trio remained deeply undercover aside from a few notable exceptions, such as the Rescue at the Ministry of Magic 1997 and the Gringotts Bank Break-in 1998…

My eyes skim through the rest of the passage, barely taking anything in. The mention of Hermione Weasley inevitably has me think about another Weasley, the Weasley currently sat at the opposite end of the common room. It's been nearly three weeks since we argued and the lack of contact between us feels...strange. I suppose it's because he hasn't left me alone since I first stepped off the Hogwarts Express back in 2016 and I've forgotten what it's like to not have him constantly hound me if he can.

Some of it might be because our argument was a little harsh too.

Shaking my head determinedly, I resolve to not think about it anymore. I mean, there is no use dwelling on the fact that he called me a bitch or that it actually stung. Or that I may have overstepped the mark by accusing him of something really bad. Nothing good will come from it at all. The only good thing that has come from it is that he's finally stopped.

I let out an irritated sigh. Brilliant. Clearly, I am succeeding at keeping my mind off it. Gritting my teeth, I force my thoughts away from that disaster and onto the task at hand.

Fully explain the effect of the capture of Hogwarts during the years 1997-1998.

It's almost too easy.

/

There's something about untouched snow that speaks to me. It's beautiful, a blindingly white blanket that sparkles when the sun shines on it in exactly the right way and I can't help the admiration I feel for it. Then, I can't help the urge to destroy it.

I laugh as I drag my feet through it, kicking out my legs and making a general mess. Liv watches me in amusement before she joins in with a loud whoop.

"There's something about winter that makes me feel alive!" she exclaims breathlessly, tipping her head up toward the sky. She pauses, shrugs and then drops onto her back without another word. I raise an eyebrow at her as she begins to furiously move her arms up and down.

"Winter in Scotland is really nice," I agree. "Much better than back home anyway."

Liv shakes her head firmly. "No. There will be no depressing talk today. After the visit, we already have a depressing weekend ahead of us so there will be nothing of the sort. Today's about having fun!"

I cock my head to the side. "I'm heartless. I don't think I know how to have fun."

"Nah," she says happily. "There's a distinct difference between being heartless and having a stick up your ass."

"Thanks."

"You're welcome!" She beams and then jumps back up to admire her handiwork. With a few well-placed steps and the use of her index finger, there's a rather nice snow angel on the path to Hogsmeade, halo and all.

Rolling my eyes at her proud look, I tug her forward. Now that my mission has been accomplished - that patch of snow is no longer perfect - we need to get to the village so that I can buy the presents.

It's as if someone's dumped all the sugar in Hogwarts into Liv's bowl of cereal today. She giggles as she skips along (or at least tries to in snow that's a foot deep) and twirls around, her cloak a vibrant splash of red against the white.

"Oh, I wish it could be Christmas everyday," she warbles.

I wince. "I don't, not if it makes you sing like that."

"I," she says loftily, "have the voice of an angel."

"Is that what you tell yourself so that you can sleep at night?"

"Oh, be quiet," she says, shoving me playfully away from her.

Thankfully, she listens to her own advice and doesn't attempt to make my ears bleed anymore. We follow the stream of students to where the carriages wait for us and steal the first empty one we can find. Warmth washes over us and I shiver from the change in temperature.

"So we're splitting up when we get there?" Liv looks to me for a confirmation. When I nod, she makes a face. "How long for?"

"About half an hour." I shrug. "An hour at most."

"Why can't I know what you're getting me? It's not as if I'm not going to find out at Christmas anyway."

"Because Christmas is a couple of weeks away and it's supposed to be a surprise, you idiot."

She pouts. "So you're going to abandon me, are you? Leave me to wander the village on my own?"

"You have other friends," I remind her.

"Yeah, but none of them possess the same level of charming pessimism as you, Lyssa. I need someone to balance out my good mood by being a human Dementor."

"Dementors can't be human, Liv."

"And yet here you are."

I brandish my wand threateningly. "I don't care if you're my friend or not, I will hex you," I promise without any real feeling.

Liv grins widely in response.

When the carriages stop in the town centre, I reluctantly leave the warmth of the carriage and hop back into the snow. Liv has already convinced me to buy her present first and then meet up with her before I buy the rest so I walk away as soon as my feet touch the ground. As I walk, I take in the village of Hogsmeade with some interest. In December, Hogsmeade looks like a quaint picturesque postcard - a layer of snow lines the roofs of cottages like icing, boughs of holly and decorative wreaths are decked out where possible, a towering Christmas tree is adorned with shimmering glass ornaments and glowing fairies that daintily perch on the branches and snowflakes drift down gently from above.

Immediately, I wish for a camera so that I can capture the beauty and put it in a frame as a gift, possibly for Grandma. Unfortunately, the only person I know that has a camera and the ability to use it well isn't too happy with me.

Liv is a surprisingly easy person to shop for. Like most girls, she appreciates a good set of clothes or cosmetics or something sentimental and she loves Potions so if the present ticks one of those boxes, she's happy with it. On my last trip to Hogsmeade, I found a small business that sells items to satisfy her love for Potions. Unlike most shops in Hogsmeade, it's not located in the main street and actually operates at the owner's house as a way of making some extra Galleons. For this reason, I turn into an alleyway just past Dervish &amp; Banges and head toward the cottages instead.

Barely five minutes pass before I see the house. In autumn the garden bursts with life, plants of all sorts shooting toward the sky in a vibrant explosion of crimson, orange and sunshine yellow. In winter it's not as riotous, but there's still a range of plants. Muggle ones like hellebore and camellia pop out of the snow while winterberry and firethorn adorn branches that arch toward the ground. Corkscrew hazel causes the small plot of land to shimmer eerily and then there are the magical plants that sway and wind their vines around the trunks of the trees.

A small cheery sign hovers above the unlatched front gate proclaiming Iona's: Open For Business!

"Hello dearie," says a small plump woman as she answers the front door. "Ah, I remember you. One of the Hogwarts lot, aren't you?"

I nod. "Um, last time I came here you showed me the…"

"The So You Think You Like Potions kit?" she says when I trail off.

"Yeah. Do you have any left?"

"Aye."

She gestures for me to follow her into the house. She leads me to the staircase and taps the door underneath it. It swings open, revealing smooth stone steps that lead downwards. Already familiar with it, I trail after her into the basement where her business flourishes. Cauldrons bubble on top of smooth worktops, various potion ingredients hang down from the ceiling, a quill scribbles notes onto one of the walls while several others jot down orders and methods onto rolls of parchment and the rest of the walls proudly display finished potions and products.

Two girls in their early twenties lounge on one of the free worktops, immersed in a conversation, but look up when we enter.

"Ah, Hogwarts student, is it?" one says knowingly. "Shopping for Christmas presents, I expect."

"Aye," Iona repeats. "Get this young lady a So You Think You Like Potions kit, Aggie."

The girl who spoke jumps off the worktop and turns to one of the walls of products. The other one watches me curiously.

"I recognise you," she says. "What year are you in?"

"Fifth," I answer.

"House?"

"Gryffindor."

She nods. "I was a Hufflepuff myself. Left about three years ago. But I know I recognise you."

I choose not to say anything and before she can ask me my name, the other woman returns with Liv's present. A roll of parchment hovers behind her, scribbling details onto the bottom strip.

"That'll be three Galleons and a sickle," she says.

I grimace. Of course, the kit was always going to cost more than if it was bought in Diagon Alley since everything here is grown itself, but that doesn't make it any more enjoyable to hand over the Galleons.

When I hand it over, she pockets it and tears off the bottom of the parchment. She chirps, "Here's the product and your receipt. Yuletide Greetings and have a merry Christmas!"

Iona guides me back up the staircase and out of the cottage, thanking me for the business and then I'm back in the snow, one gloved hand in the pocket of my cloak, the other curled around the shopping bag. I make sure that the present can't be seen before I meet Liv.

"So what did you get me?" she asks when I come to a stop next to her. She leans against the wall of Honeydukes, watching a steady stream of students pour in and out of the shop.

I roll my eyes. "Shut up."

She smiles. "I had to try."

Laughing, I pull her into the sweet shop with my free hand. As always the difference in temperature hits me like a tidal wave, but in Honeydukes it's worse due to the fact that half of Hogwarts is crammed into the shop. Not only are the warming charms chasing away the cold, but the heat of so many bodies is steadily rising.

"Whose presents are you buying here?" Liv asks, speaking directly into my ear.

"Grandma's," I reply, "and one of Mum's. Plus some treats for us."

Liv latches onto my arm and drags me to the chocolate section where she nearly clears out the Chocolate Frogs, thoughtfully buying some for me too. I buy a packet of Pepper Imps, some Fizzing Whizbees and Tooth-Flossing Stringmints. For Grandma, I fork out for some treacle fudge, Chocoballs and Cauldron cakes packaged by Flume in a special festive box for the Christmas seasons and for Mum I get a similar design with Drooble's Best Blowing Gum, Chocolate Frogs, Chocoballs and eclairs.

For Uncle Damien, I find a nondescript planner in Scrivenshaft's that reads out the owner's tasks for that day. Grandpa is also easily shopped for as I find him a second-hand and (more importantly) tamed wizards chess set. He's enamoured by the Muggle game so his fascination with the magical one is unbelievable.

In the end, Mum's other present is left.

And I don't know what to get her.

"No. No. No. God, no."

Liv leans against one of the clothes rails and watches me in amusement. "Say that louder, Lyssa, I don't think some people down in Cornwall heard you."

I glare at her and then turn to glare at the witch behind Gladrag's counter who is already glaring at me for my comments. To be frank, I can't even bring myself to care by this point.

"None of it is right," I huff, pushing a deep purple cloak with glimmering stars to one side. "She might be fascinated by our world, but she's still a Muggle and wearing a bright pink robe with a kneazle on it-" I grit my teeth in frustration as I shove the monstrosity to one side. "-will not appeal to her."

"Then go the Muggle section."

I don't even bother dignifying that with a reply. Muggle fashion has recently been introduced into the magical world, but all of it is aimed at teenagers. Though I suppose the 50s style means that a woman like Mum could pull it off if she didn't prefer jeans and fitted shirts.

At last, I admit defeat. I've been trying to avoid the damn place, but apparently it's inevitable that Mum's gift is going to come from WWW International.

"Let's go," I say glumly.

As always, the shop is a mess. The joke shop is one of the village's most popular attractions along with Honeydukes, The Three Broomsticks and the Shrieking Shack so it is jam-packed on Hogsmeade Saturdays. Chaos reigns free as students try out the latest and the loudest products the Weasleys have to offer and cries of glee fill the air.

"Weasley Wizard Wheezes!" says Liv happily. "Ah, I love it."

"Yeah, yeah," I mutter. "Go ahead and knock yourself out."

While Liv dives into the crowd, I search for something that's distinctly magical as well as agreeable with Muggle life. It needs to work without the touch of a witch or wizard which is why products like Patented Daydream Charms are out of the question.

I scour the entire shop until I find the perfect gift: a pygmy puff. More specifically the fattest and only royal blue pygmy puff in the cage. Before any of the girls surrounding the cages can protest, my hand shoots out and snatches it up.

"Hey!" a third year exclaims.

I raise an eyebrow at her. "Yes?"

As soon as she realises I'm older than her, she falters. "I- I…" She glances at her friends. "Um. Enjoy the pygmy puff?"

"Will do."

Tucking the pygmy puff into the pocket of my jacket, I wind my way through the crowd, feeling more restful now that I have all of the presents out of the way. Once Liv's demolished nearly all of her pocket money on whatever she's buying here, we can spend the rest of the afternoon in the Three Broomsticks with some nice hot bottles of Butterbeer and relax, perhaps discuss the latest song released by the famous all-wizard band Harry and the Potters ('Blast-Ended Skrewt and Eye-of-Newt') and the latest rumours on the Hogwarts mill.

Handing over the money with an overwhelming sense of satisfaction, I officially write the day off as a success.

* * *

**DISCLAIMER: The fictional band 'Harry and the Potters' is not to be confused with the actual real life American rock band of the same name. Truth be told, I wasn't aware of their existence until a minute ago.**

**AUTHOR'S NOTE: After like a month and a half, I'm back with another chapter! Here we see what has been going on after the big argument in the last chapter. I hope it's okay. I mean, I'm not too hot on the ending at the moment, so please leave any suggestions in a review. :) I want to upload another chapter either by the end of September or by the first week of October, but there's no telling how that'll go since I'm still getting into the swing of things again after summer.**

**Until next time,**

**elixirsoflife xo**


	8. Purgatory

**8.**

I love Hogwarts, I really do, but spending months in a castle full of petty teenagers makes you long for home a little. Maybe I'm not too fond of the boring, dead-end town that home happens to be in, but I can appreciate and miss the home itself. Yearning for it causes the last week to rush by in a blur of homework, snowball fights, trips to the library and Christmas festivities until the day the Hogwarts Express is setting off arrives almost unexpectedly.

"Damn piece of fluff," I mutter as I drop to my knees. "Overexcited, overrated, over_priced _furball."

"Don't insult Odysseus like that!" Liv admonishes.

"His name is _not _Odysseus."

I stretch my fingers out as far as I can, searching blindly for the target when suddenly they curl around a warm, soft ball of fluff. Crying out in triumph, I pull my arm out from underneath my bed and scowl down at the pygmy puff. 'Odysseus' glares up at me with his beady eyes.

"He's so cute," says Little Emma Evans, leaning over her bed to get a better look at him.

"If he wasn't for Mum, I'd give him to you," I say honestly.

As it is, I'm not getting rid of the thing anytime soon so settle for glaring at it instead. He might behave like the devil with me, but he best be on his best behaviour for Mum or else I will happily set him free in the harsh Muggle neighbourhood.

"Stay," I say sternly and then tuck him into the front pocket of my coat.

No one comments on the fact that I'm talking to a pygmy puff as if it can understand me since most people in the dormitory have fawned over 'Odysseus' for the past week. Everyone, even Adelaide Longbottom, has walked into the dormitory at some point to find him squeaking on their pillow or trunk and have been taken by how fat and blue he is. Though he's been difficult with me, his presence means that Emma Evans and Mirabelle Smith have been unusually nice.

After the holidays, it'll all go back to normal though.

Now that the pygmy puff is safe and secure, I resume packing my trunk. I'm not taking most of my items so it won't take long - I'll definitely be done by the time we're supposed to go down to the carriages - but 'Odysseus' keeps setting me back by hiding. I rummage through my stuff to find the warmest and most Muggle items of clothing I own, leaving my cloak behind seeing as how it probably won't go down too well where I live. I fold them quickly, not bothering with neatness and tossing them into the trunk.

"I don't understand why we don't pack the night before," Liv says, huffing as she tries to push in a large present into her own trunk. "We _always _say that we will and we _never _do it."

"We're teenagers," I say. Reaching forward, I grab the closest textbooks I can and use them to flatten a pile of clothes. "It's in our nature to lie and procrastinate."

Liv lets out an exaggerated gasp and sits down heavily on top of her trunk. "We're such awful people. Lyssa, come over here and help me zip this up."

I wave a hand airily. "Give me a minute, I'm busy."

"I'll do it," Little Emma Evans offers.

Glancing sideways, I see her kneel next to Liv and wrench the zip 'round with all of her might. It appears that Odysseus believes that she needs his help because he squeaks loudly and tries to jump out of my jacket. Quicker than a flash of lightning, I slap my hand over the opening of the pocket.

"What part of 'stay' do you not understand?" I hiss.

He glares up at me in response.

Damn pygmy puff.

Satisfied that he won't try to escape again - at least for another five minutes - I pour in the rest of my books, carefully lay in the presents on top and then put in all of my toiletries. With a wave of my wand, the trunk clicks shut.

Liv looks at me blankly. "Why didn't I think of that?"

I smirk and fix the bun on top of my head. "We should go down," I say instead of answering with a smug comment.

She nods in agreement. Brandishing her wand determinedly, she uses a Hovering Charm and leads the way out of the dormitory, cheerfully bidding the rest of the girls goodbye. I follow her silently, mimicking her use of the charm. We descend the staircase, wind our way through the common room and the corridors until we reach the Entrance Hall.

"Girls," Professor Longbottom sighs when he sees us, "you _are _aware that magic shouldn't be used outside of lessons, right?"

"Yes, but this is an emergency," I say.

He looks at me in a careful manner in response. I meet his gaze steadily, aware that he probably has some knowledge of the argument I had with his darling daughter, but he doesn't appear to be inclined to treat me any differently from normal. Professor Longbottom is notorious for being a fair teacher.

"An emergency, huh?"

"Uh-huh." Liv nods to show her feelings on the matter, a strand of hair falling into her eyes. She shakes it out with her free hand, not wavering in her application of the spell. She adds with a warm, cheeky smile, "In fact, Professor, I think that we should have some house points each for such great wandwork. You know, as a Christmas present?"

He turns his head to the side to hide his grin. "As you wish, Olivia. A house point each for such great wandwork. Have a merry Christmas."

Sharing an amused look with her, I move forward to where the carriages await us. We climb into the nearest one, a spacious one that houses a couple of second year Hufflepuffs and Gryffindors, one of them being Colin.

"Colin!" Liv exclaims exuberantly, mostly to embarrass him.

"Hullo, Livvy," he says. "Hi, Alyssa."

"Alright, Colin?" I incline my head and then turn to the rest of the second years. "Colin's friends."

They murmur their greetings back quietly. One of the Hufflepuffs eyes me wearily and inches away. My answering smirk tells her just what I think about that. At the sight of it, she freezes and chooses to remain exactly where she is.

Honestly, you'd think that I'm about to whip out my wand and use an Unforgivable or something with the way the lower years treat me.

"So what are you doing for Christmas, Alyssa?" Colin asks.

"The same old," I answer with a shrug. "Celebrate Christmas Eve the way that Grandma wants it. Then we'll do it Grandpa's way on Christmas Day."

"Oh, okay."

It seems that the conversation runs dry there. Liv makes some small talk with the kids, but they don't give much to work with so she falls silent within minutes, occasionally speaking up while I gaze out of the window in a stupor. We arrive at Hogsmeade Station in silence and I get off first so I can find a compartment to claim for ourselves while Liv fusses over her brother.

"Remember to get lunch - a _proper _lunch and not just sweets. Oh, and if McLaggen tries to bully you, call for me and I'll be there in a split-second-"

"Yeah, I get it, Livvy. You're my sister, not my mum."

"Well, there's no need to be so _snippy _with me…"

Her voice falls away and merges with the rest of the crowd's as I board the Hogwarts Express and steal a compartment toward the end. Usually, it'd probably be really difficult to push my way through the students in order to find a free compartment. Apparently, having a trunk glide through the air in the general direction of people's heads is enough to make them dive into the nearest compartment as quickly as possible. How effective.

Only a few minutes pass after the train sets off before Liv finds me. She sits down in the opposite seat and fixes the collar of her cloak rather irritably.

"I forgot that second years tried to be cool," she says with a small grimace.

"You can't blame Colin for being embarrassed," I say. "I mean, one mention of McLaggen and you tend to freak out."

"I wasn't talking about _McLaggen_," she says stiffly in a tone that the seventh year can only conjure from her, "or Colin for that matter."

"Who were you talking about then?"

"Colin's friend. You know, Ronnie Jorkins?" I furrow my brows in confusion. The name does not ring a bell at all. Noticing this, she continues, "The one that's a little taller than the rest, has various piercings and likes to dye his hair red?"

"...Sure."

"Oh my God, Lyssa, he was in the carriage with us!" she exclaims. "The one that sat next to me!"

Pursing my lips, I struggle to recall the second year that sat next to Liv and Colin. Eventually, a young face comes to mind: one with a shock of deep red hair, a black ear stretcher and a few lip piercings and a smirk that is at complete odds to Colin's usual thoughtful expression.

"Is it the one with the upturned nose like mine?" I ask. She nods, rolling her eyes. "Oh. Poor kid. We have awful noses."

"They're actually pretty cute," she says. "Well, yours is. I wouldn't say the same for Ronnie Jorkins."

I raise my eyebrows at her unusually rude comment. "And what do you have against this kid?"

"He-" She cuts herself off, turning red from either frustration or humiliation. She crosses her arms over her chest in indignation. "Ronnie Jorkins thinks he can flirt with me."

Whatever I'm expecting, it isn't this. I burst into laughter. "_W-What_?"

For once, Liv is not amused. "This isn't funny, Lyssa! He asked me out to Hogsmeade and when I reminded him that he was in second year, he suggested that we have some 'alone time' in the Goblin Wars section in the library."

"That's actually made my day." I laugh. "My oh my, are second years already discovering the Snogging Aisle?"

"It was mortifying," she exclaims with a shudder. "He's _twelve! _And he refuses to listen to that fact."

"So tell him you like your dates to have reached 5 ft."

She leans over to swipe at me. "Alyssa Chamberlain, you are being so unsupportive! If you don't have anything useful to say, don't say anything at a-" Her admonishment is cut short by the sound of the compartment door opening and she breaks into her standard smile.

Meanwhile, I furrow my eyebrows at the newcomer. I hoped to have the compartment to ourselves, but apparently, Albus Potter doesn't agree with my plans. Normally, I don't care about him, but the Weasleys tend to band together, meaning that there's a high chance that Freddie will come along in a while if Potter's here. Obviously, I don't want this to happen.

"Al, have you found a free compartment?" a husky voice asks. Rose Weasley peers over the Slytherin's shoulder, clocks Liv and I and then flushes a soft pink, muttering something under her breath. "C'mon, let's find another one."

"Don't bother," he says. With a glance back at her and Scorpius Malfoy, he enters the compartment and settles in a seat. "Both of the Fancourts are pissing me off - Sarah keeps trying to worm her way into my good books and Asher tries to give me Quidditch tips like he's a bloody _McLaggen_. They won't come in here so we'll stay."

"How do you know that?" she demands, refusing to enter.

Malfoy slips in past her and sits opposite Potter. Back straight, he leans against the seat and jerks his head toward me. "Because of her, of course. Hello, by the way. I hope we're not intruding."

They are and I have half a mind to tell them that before Liv quickly says, "Oh no, of course not" as if she's realised I have such an urge.

She has a sixth sense, I'm telling you.

"Hi," I say cautiously instead. Rose Weasley eyes me with as much suspicion as I regard the trio and when none of them make a move to explain why I can drive the Fancourts away, I ask, "What do I have to do with anything?"

"Asher Fancourt's a third year," Malfoy explains. "He stays away from older Gryffindors because they're more adept at spells than him. He doesn't wish to give them an excuse to use them against him."

"As for Sarah Fancourt," Potter says with a lazy smirk, "she'll stay away from you now that you're no longer Freddie's girl."

The title instantly has me on edge. Freddie's girl. _Freddie's girl. _Since when have I ever been a possession to be owned by some boy - and Freddie Weasley no less?

"Excuse me," I say tightly, "but I was never 'Freddie's girl' and never will be so you can forget about using that _stupid _term again."

Liv lets out a soft groan.

Malfoy smirks.

Potter smirks.

Weasley's bushy hair frizzes.

"Listen," she begins angrily, but Potter cuts her off in a similar manner to the way Liv tends to do with me when she's controlling a situation.

"Don't worry about it, Rosie. She won't harm us." I grit my teeth at being referred to as if I'm not there. He addresses Liv, "How about this, Creevey? We'll leave you alone and you'll leave us alone for the rest of journey. If we all do that, we should make it through relatively unscathed."

"Um...okay?"

"Good. Now sit down, Rose, you're making me uncomfortable."

With an irritable huff, the redhead places herself next to Malfoy. Both of the boys exchange a smirk in amusement.

_Bloody smirkers._

With that out of the way, Potter promptly extracts a battered notebook out of his robes and starts to flick through it. I eye him warily. I've never spoken to Albus Potter - to be honest, I rarely speak to _anyone _\- but I do know that he's the 'enigma' of the Potters. As the only Slytherin of the lot, he's said to be cold, calculating and ruthless (on the Quidditch pitch at least. He's one of the youngest Captains of the Slytherin Quidditch team to date - the house tends to prefer to bestow the honour to broad, burly seventh years, not lean and wiry fourth years) _and _best friends with Scorpius Malfoy, son of an infamous ex-Death Eater.

He's also earned the reputation of a notorious heartbreaker, though not in the usual sense. Albus Potter doesn't flirt his way through a batch of girls a week; he simply crushes their hopes and dreams by mercilessly rejecting their offers to go on a nice date. It's a widely known fact that the Potter boys don't date and conjecture has led most people to assume it's because a lot of people chase them for their fame. There's no denying that's the case with the younger brother. He has no patience for the fangirls - it's either that or he's simply sadistic.

Deciding to treat his little gang as they've resolved to treat us, I proceed to ignore them and fish out a book from the top layer of my trunk. I leave said trunk on the floor and rest my feet on top of it.

With a glance at Liv to make sure that she's okay - she's perfectly fine, if the fact that she's busy contently giving herself a manicure means anything - I dive into the fictional world at my fingertips.

* * *

It's evening by the time that the Hogwarts Express rolls into Platform Nine and Three Quarters. True to his word, Potter and his friends don't bother us and we don't bother them. When the train stops, he leaves the compartment quickly and silently with Malfoy and Weasley on his heels, the latter sending me one last weary glance before she disappears out of sight.

"That was...strange," Liv comments, reaching up to grab her trunk while I ensure that Odysseus is safe and sound. "I've never really spoken to Albus Potter before. He's nothing like James."

That's because James doesn't mind being one of the Golden Boys. He's cheeky and charms the teachers. Meanwhile, his brother doesn't appear to have heard of the word.

"Yeah," I say. "Rose Weasley doesn't seem to like me very much." Not that I care.

"Probably because everyone knows something has happened between you and Freddie," she says. With an oh so elegant grunt, she swings her trunk onto the floor. She stretches her arms out and winces. "I should probably lay off the chocolate fudge."

I send her a look of disbelief.

Like she'll ever do that.

We laugh and get off the train. Now that we're not in Hogwarts anymore, we don't have the pleasure of using magic to help us out so we can't levitate our trunks to take pity on our arms or force people out of the way. Because of this, we have to walk slowly with the crowd as we try to pass the barrier.

"I'll send your present with Dad's new owl on the morning of Christmas Eve," Liv reminds me, "and you can send my present back with him. But _don't _open your present until Christmas Day."

"I know," I say. "If you want to contact me, just call me."

"Expect daily calls."

"I knew you were obsessed with me," I joke.

Finally, we pass through the barrier. As soon as we're in the Muggle world, I look around for a familiar face and spot Mum leaning against the opposite barrier. Clad in dark jeans and a chiffon blouse, the sight of her has warmth erupt inside me and I drag my luggage along as I run to her.

"Mum!" I exclaim, throwing my arms around her.

She laughs happily and hugs me back. She's only a few inches taller than me, but I feel so much smaller as I sink into her embrace. It really has been too long since I've seen her and been able to smell the fierce citrusy scent that always clings to her.

"I've missed you," I mumble into the crook of her neck.

"I've missed you too, baby," she says, pressing a kiss to my hair. After a long moment, I step back and take hold of my trunk again. She brushes a stray strand of my hair back and cups my face in her hand. "You're growing up too fast."

I roll my eyes. "You always say that."

"Yeah, well, it's true. I don't see you nearly enough."

"I know," I say with a sad smile.

That's one of the problems with Hogwarts. Honestly, I love the place, but it's too far away from Mum and it means that I don't see her as much as I'd like to. Out of twelve months a year, I see her for about three. If there was only some way to drag her along.

"Come on," she says. She takes my trunk off me despite my protests. "The train will be off soon."

As we walk, Mum talks to me about the rest of the family and what they've been up to recently. Grandma has dedicated a great portion of each day to cleaning the house in order to prepare the house for Christmas and Mum warns me that I'll probably be suffering the same fate when I'm not working with Uncle Damien. Meanwhile, Grandpa now works at the local cornershop three days of the week - he usually just works weekends and goes back to the office for four of the other days, leaving one of his days free - and has been joking that it's to get away from his insane wife.

"Is she still pestering you to get married?" I ask as we board the train.

"Baby, I don't think she'll ever stop," she says with a small laugh. "If she could come back as a ghost, she'd do it just to tell me and Damien to get married."

"Luckily for you, Mum," I say in a conspiratorial whisper, leaning closer to her, "Muggles can't become ghosts. They can't see them either so if by some miracle, Grandma _does _manage to come back, I'll be the only one suffering."

"Ah. You'll spend your days hearing her go on about how I've corrupted you."

"I'll have to hunt down an exorcist."

"I think she'll scare the living daylights out of the best of them."

We have a long ride ahead of us so we settle down as comfortably as we can in our seats and drift off. Mum hands me an old phone and a pair of earphones so I can amuse myself with some music and I pop them in, listening to the latest Muggle hits on the radio as the train speeds along the tracks.

My eyes slide shut. I wander in and out of sleep as the hours go on, tired from the long day. Occasionally, I rouse from sleep to shift in my seat again and cast a glance Mum's way. She's asleep for most of the journey as well and looks so peaceful in her slumber, all of her worry lines faded away. I reach over and clasp her hand before I fall asleep again.

After what feels like forever, Mum shakes me awake. "We're in Manchester, baby," she mumbles and I rise from my seat, stretching out every limb as much as I can.

Uncle Damien meets us at the station. I'm too tired to respond properly to his cheery "alright, guys?" and half-heartedly return his hug, trudging along to his car. From Piccadilly Station, it's another twenty minute drive until we get home so I try to fall asleep as soon as I sit down in the backseat.

"Knackered, isn't she?" I hear Uncle Damien chuckle as I succumb to the darkness once more.

"She's had a long day," Mum whispers. "Leave off her."

Unlike my nap on the train, it feels like I've simply closed my eyes for a mere second before Uncle Damien's car grinds to a halt and he declares that we have reached our destination. Swearing under my breath and avoiding Mum's sharp, reprimanding look, I shuffle out of the car and round to the boot. Waiting for him to unlock it, I absently curl my hand around the dozing pygmy puff in my pocket. Thank the lord he's asleep - imagine what could happen if he tried to escape from me again in this neighbourhood?

Cheerful drunken singing distracts me from my thoughts and I look around blearily for the source of the commotion. A group of teenagers turn the corner and enter the street on the side closest to us, laughing as loud as Gryffindors when we've won a match, jumping and swaying ridiculously. One of the boys at the front notices us and stops singing.

"MRS CHAMBERLAIN, IS THAT YOU?" he bawls.

Mum sighs and shakes her head. "Do I look like my mother, Jack?"

Smiling lopsidedly, Jack staggers forward as Uncle Damien lifts the boot up and grabs hold of my trunk. He catches sight of me and eyes me interestedly. I roll my eyes at his behaviour. Every single time we meet again, he treats me like an exotic creature he hasn't ever seen before when in truth, he last saw me a few months ago.

"And who's _this?_" he says.

"Shut up, Jack," I say. "You know it's me."

"Interesting name, that," he says with a slight hiccup. "_Me_."

"Go home, Jack. You're drunk."

"You don't say? Wanna join us, Me? It'll be _si-_"

"Alyssa needs her sleep," Mum cuts in sharply. She gently shoves me to indicate that I should follow Uncle Damien inside. "I know that your Mum doesn't mind you drinking, but _I _do. Why don't you do something more useful with your time instead of getting pissed? Your GCSEs are coming up, aren't they?"

"Ah, don't be like that, Mrs Chamberlain." He waves a dismissive hand in the air and shrugs. "GCSEs are _boring._ 'Sides, I'm a strong C in all me lessons."

"You _could _be an A student," she tells him.

"Nah. Life's too short to care about As and A*s. 'Sides, not all of us are smart enough to get a sch-scholarship into boarding schools." He staggers back toward his group of mates, calling back, "I'll see you later, Me - Chamberlain - whatever you wanna be called."

I don't reply. Jack's a nice enough guy, but he's a prime example of why I want to leave this town. He's a living reminder of everything that I could've been if I hadn't discovered magic or still had my father. It's scary to think that in some other world, there might be an Alyssa Chamberlain that staggers around in a drunken stupor late at night, mindlessly smoking her way through an entire packet of cigarettes and throwing her future away.

Luckily, things have worked out differently. I'm not going to be another drunk teenager on the streets - no, I'm going to get at least all Es on my OWLs and NEWTs, get a good job at the Department of Magical Law Enforcement, work my way up, hopefully end up working with Hermione Weasley, pay off my loans and buy Mum a nice flat somewhere out of this dead-end town. I know my mother. The main reason she's still here is because Grandma and Grandpa make supporting me a little easier. She wasn't meant to be tied down to this, but she's done it for me.

So I'm going to repay the favour. Under no circumstances am I going to end up like Jack. I don't care what I have to sacrifice in order to get there.

* * *

**AUTHOR'S NOTE: I'm baaaack. I honestly planned to update earlier than this, but time slipped away from me. The good news is that in terms of actually writing this, I'm on CH12 so updates won't be _that _bad, if staggered a little. Plus, will probably have the chapters up earlier than HPFF since it's a shorter process here and I don't have to worry about CIs.**

**Ah, Albus Potter. What do you think of him, Scorpius and Rose? They don't play huge roles here, but I've been considering making a couple of fics about them that's set in this universe. They won't be out for a while yet, though. But what do you think of their little cameos?**

**Please do leave a review if you can. The last chapter had little response which means that I am at a complete loss as to whether you are enjoying this direction or not. So even if it's just a little note, it'd be great if you could leave something. Love yous!**

**Until next time,**

**elixirsoflife xo**


	9. Confessions of the Soul

**9.**

"Welcome to _Damien's Diner_, how can I help you?"

Whenever I return to my hometown, I know exactly what lies in wait. My days have a more or less regular routine that I can slip into easily, my body instantly adjusting to the change. I wake up, eat breakfast with the family and then am usually persuaded into doing a couple of chores by my sharp-tongued Grandma. Once these are done, I loll around for an hour or two, dress and then walk with Grandpa to the local cornershop to drop him off for work. If he's working at the office that day, we travel to the town centre together on the bus. He escorts me all the way to Uncle Damien's cafe and then carries on until he reaches his building.

Once I'm at work, I'll stay there for a couple of hours to lend an extra hand and make a bit of extra money. Contrary to popular opinion, I actually _can _smile and force myself to do so whenever I'm talking to a customer, remember to maintain a welcoming tone in my voice and try my best to come across as charming so they'll return. After I've thoroughly exhausted my quota for being nice, I'll either take the bus home or get a lift with Uncle Damien, who also picks up Grandpa if he's at the office, depending on what time it is.

At home, I'll probably help Grandma out with another chore and then relax until Mum comes home from work. Whenever I'm home, she tends to charm her way into having shorter hours at work or hurries back so we can spend some time together.

Right now, I'm at the point where I try to convince the customers that I'm an angel.

"Oh, I'll just have a couple of chocolate milkshakes," says the woman distractedly. She looks like the typical young mum, toddler on her hip, the little boy next to her eagerly reaching for the cake on display before she lightly slaps his hand away. "Matthew, _no._ Mummy's getting you a chocolate milkshake."

"I want cake," he says in a breathless lisp. Firmly crossing his arms, he continues, "That one. I want _that _cake."

"Well, you're not getting it," she says. She turns to me with an embarrassed expression.

I smile reassuringly. "They always want what they can't have, don't they?" I say. "Anyways, that'll be £3.20." She hands over the money and I slot it into the till, counting the appropriate change. "Your milkshakes will be done soon. Thanks for stopping by."

Time passes by with many similar exchanges. At some point, Uncle Damien instructs me to start taking food to and from the tables when one of his usual workers come in to work at the till. Securing my apron, I set about wiping down the vacated tables and carrying plates of food back and forth from the kitchen. This is the job that I hate the most - sure, being at the till can be tedious, but I abhor having to expertly balance the crockery instead of whipping out my wand and making use of a well-placed Hovering Charm. It just serves as a reminder of what situation I'm stuck in.

Clocks all over the country have just hit four o'clock when Jack slouches in, hands in his pockets and a couple of boys with him. They look nearly identical, all clad in dark grey joggers, beanies jammed over their hair and thick gloves on their hands. Stamping the snow off their trainers, they move further into the warmth of the café.

"Alright, Chamberlain?" Jack grins almost wickedly when he catches sight of me.

I pause, my right hand still tightly curled around the cloth. "Hi, Jack." I force my voice to maintain its false perkiness. Judging from the way his grins widens - how it does that, I have no idea because it's wide enough as it is - he can hear the insincerity in it loud and clear.

"How's your holidays been so far?" he asks, taking a seat at the table I'm wiping down. One of his friends rolls his eyes and drops into the seat next to him wordlessly; I swear I knew his name once. The other one heads over to the counter to order.

"Standard, I suppose." I shrug.

"Sounds...great. When are you off to school again?"

"Shortly after the 1st. Why?"

"No reason. Just asking, aren't I?"

The boy that rolled his eyes tilts his head to the side in curiosity. He narrows his dark eyes at me calculatingly and I meet it with a gaze that's even more impressive. Forget being nice and approachable; if he's going to look at me like a science experiment, I'll make sure that my glare is acidic enough to have him backing away.

"You're that girl, aren't you?" His accent is harsher than Jack's which is quite a feat. He drops consonants left and right, almost skips out words entirely. "That one that goes to that posh boarding school up north: Alyssa Chamberlain.""

"What gave it away?" I ask with a wry twist of my mouth. "The fact that I'm only here in the holidays or Jack's use of my surname?"

Jack barks out a laugh.

The boy looks unconcerned. "Thought you was down for Cell Block A. How'd you hear of that fancy school?" All of the local kids refer to the various secondary schools as different cell blocks of a prison. Cell Block A is the biggest.

"One of Mum's friends mentioned it," I lie. Then I smirk. "Why? Are you thinking of applying?"

When Jack laughs again, the boy scowls. "_No._ Don't think I can stand having a load of idiots near me that sound like they're having tea with the effing Queen. Posh kids piss me off," he adds at the sight of my raised eyebrows.

"Are you indirecting Chamberlain, Aaron?" Jack says teasingly. "She's an A student. She'll have your head without even lifting a finger."

Or my wand.

Another hour passes by. Jack and his friends leave within it, probably having only popped in at his insistence. I know that he likes to come in a few times when I'm home for the holidays to talk to me a little and ease me back into life in this town once again. Whether he does it because he wants to or because Mum asks him to is another question, one that I can't be bothered finding out the answer to.

When it's a quarter past five, I finally hang up my apron and inform Uncle Damien that I'll be taking the bus back. Quickly buttoning up my winter coat, slipping on the hood and snuggling into my gloves, I set off into the town centre.

Snowflakes gently drift down from the sky and swirl around. A few strands of my hair have steadily slipped out of my hasty top-knot and the curls now have dots of snow caught in them like a fine layer of sugar. Adjusting my hood accordingly, I keep my head lowered, peering at the world from under my eyelashes.

Unlike Hogsmeade, the town centre isn't rife with untouched snow. In fact, the constant treading of people means that the pavements aren't really covered in any snow, they're coated in a dirty, sludge-like slush with traces of snow on the outermost edges. The roads are pretty much the same except they also have grit scattered all over them for safety's sake.

Yet Grandma's still excited about this. I think she's who I get my love for untouched snow from because she adores white Christmases. Whenever she sees the fresh snow, she goes about her day visibly happier and hums as she flits around the house like a little bird. It's not Christmas unless there's snow, she says.

The bus ride home is unremarkable. I mostly pass the time by listening to music with the phone I keep on me when I'm back and thinking absently about Christmas. Already the classic Christmas movies are on TV and all of the music channels constantly play festive songs like Mariah Carey's '_All I Want For Christmas'_ or the latest rendition of '_Jingle Bell Rock'_. Bright lights have been put up on the front of many houses, little kids have already fashioned snowmen in the early hours of the morning and boughs of holly wrap around lamp posts at regular intervals in the Council's efforts to spread some festive cheer.

It has nothing on Hogsmeade, but it's better than it usually looks, that's for sure.

As I trudge off the bus, I cast my thoughts to presents. Mum took to the pygmy puff immediately and unfortunately chose to stick to the name 'Odysseus'. The startlingly blue and round furball likes to happily roll on top of her bed and stay away from the rest of us. Whenever we see each other, he glares at me - even Grandpa has commented on it in amusement and this is the man who has often confessed to me that he rarely understands what I mean when I talk about the magical world and simply likes to hear me talk. And of course, the bloody thing is terrified by Grandma so it decides to behave around her.

I wonder what I'm getting this year. I won't even try to pretend I'm not selfish in that respect; I mean, _everyone _wants presents, no matter how modest they attempt to be so there's no use in denying it.

Mum has hinted to me that she's gotten me more than one present because one of them shouldn't be opened in front of Grandpa or Uncle Damien. Something about her suggestive wink makes me think that it's a bra set. Meanwhile, everyone else has been firmly close-lipped on the subject as always. It's difficult to crack a Chamberlain when they've resolved to stay quiet. As for Liv, she won't say anything unless I tell her what I've gotten her.

Undoubtedly though, I most look forward to adding another charm onto my bracelet.

"Hi, Grandma," I call when I walk in.

I don't step in further than the welcoming mat right next to the front door for fear of her wrath, stamp off the slush in that very spot and slip off my damp coat with a look of distaste. Peeling off my leather gloves - who knew that Herbology equipment would be so useful - I use my free hands to run fingers through my hair and dislodge any snowflakes that haven't yet melted away.

Grandma's in the kitchen when I find her and she absently leans over to press a kiss to my cheek and then returns to the preparation of tonight's dinner. Looking over, I take note of small slices of chicken before she asks me to peel the potatoes.

Ugh. I hate peeling potatoes even more than I dislike working away from the till. I don't admit that though - arguing with Grandma is like asking for a death sentence.

"Of course," I say sweetly.

* * *

"You're so lucky," Liv sighs over miles of distance.

I raise my eyebrow even though she can't see it, adjust the phone against my ear and press my hand against my lower stomach where a cramp is building up. Staring out at the snow in the garden, I say, "Lucky that I'm in a shit town surrounded by chavs?"

"Chavs?" she echoes in confusion.

"It's slang," I explain. "It's an acronym for council-housed and violent, but it's got a lot of other conventions tied in with it."

She hums in contemplation and tests the word out on her tongue a couple of times before she continues, "Anyways, that's not what I meant."

"It's not?"

"It's not. I meant you're so lucky your Christmas is so different from ours. Don't get me wrong, I love Christmas, but I've always wanted to see what yours is like. Plus, I'm literally the only girl in my entire family this holiday because Mum's boss won't let her come back in time for Christmas so the guys are going to embarrass me on purpose."

"By doing what?"

"Stuff like knitting me the ugliest jumper ever and say that I have to wear it to the community event because 'Grandpa Creevey put his heart and soul into knitting that especially for you' or setting my alarm for five in the morning or putting Ice Mice in my slippers or - or grilling Colin about whether I've been getting close to any boys recently."

"And have you?" I laugh.

"No," she huffs. "Not yet anyway."

"Not yet?" I say interestedly. Taking on a teasing tone, I say, "Liv Creevey, do you have your eye on anyone? Will I have to inform Colin?"

"You _dare-_"

"So there is someone?"

She sighs and finally admits, "No, there isn't. But I have a feeling, Lyssa, that there might be this year. I don't know who, how or why, but I want to finally have a boyfriend."

I grimace. "Why? Relationships are a waste of time."

"Of course, _you'd _say that, my darling Dementor."

"Oh, shut up or I'll 'accidentally' tell Mirabelle Smith that you have a burning desire for McLaggen."

As I knew she would, she launches into a tirade about exactly why she will never date Terrence McLaggen, about how he's disgusting and vulgar and the very epitome of everything she despises and how he's not even attractive anyway and she doesn't know why he's convinced that smirking so perversely will have the girls of Hogwarts tear off their robes for him when it actually inspires them to invest in a good chastity belt and chuck away the key.

Liv's hilarious when she's worked up.

When she finally stops to take a breath, I smirk into the phone. "If you ask me, there was a little too much denial there. What was the saying again? Methinks the lady dost protest too much."

"Um, I don't have a clue what you're talking about," she says, "and you're very smug for someone who's one half of the most epic couples currently at Hogwarts."

Instantly, my mood deflates. Trying to keep my voice light, I say, "I don't know what you're talking about."

"Does the name Freddie Weasley ring a bell?"

"Not particularly."

"Hm."

Silence ensues.

I keep my eyes trained on the garden while I wait for her to break it. Barely realising that I'm holding my breath, I study the snowflakes that lazily drift down and watch them lose themselves in the steadily rising blanket of white on the ground. I'll have to ruin it later.

Finally, with more than a little grudging resentment, I cave and stiffly say, "We haven't talked in over a month - not that I'm complaining, of course - and I've never liked him to begin with so it must be a pretty pathetic pairing if I'm honest." When she doesn't say anything, I continue, "I don't know why everyone tries to convince me that he's an _amazing _guy either because clearly, the guy lacks something when it comes to charm, chivalry or charisma."

"He's a pretty charming guy," she says finally. "You just can't see it."

"Because there's nothing to see."

Hesitating for a moment, she says, "I'm not going to force you to like him, Lyssa." This time, it's my turn to remain quiet and when she realises this, she ploughs on, "I know it doesn't seem like it because I _do _like the idea of you and Freddie, but it's ultimately your decision. If you think that Freddie's not the guy for you or that relationships are a waste of time, then I'll support you.

I owe you an apology though. I didn't really realise that I've been acting like the rest of Hogwarts. I know you hate it when people judge you and I...well, I haven't been acting like a real best friend all this time. So. I'm sorry."

Her words take a weight off my shoulders, one I didn't even realise was there. I'm not the type of person to care about what most people think, but knowing that someone out there supports me makes me smile.

"You're a perfect best friend, Liv," I tell her truthfully, "and if I thought that you were acting like the rest of Hogwarts, I would've told you to join them a long time ago."

She laughs. "I'm sure you would've."

We lapse into another silence, but this one is comfortable. I use it to think back to my argument with Freddie and how I refused to tell Liv anything about it. Thinking about it, I really should tell someone about it if only to find out where it all went wrong.

So I do.

I confess everything to her, explaining how I needed to do my Ancient Runes essay and how he offered to help me (which, in hindsight, isn't too offensive) and the irritation I felt when he implied that he was better than me at my favourite subject. How he snapped and tried to say that there was something between us. How I denied that. How I told him that I didn't know how what he was capable of. How he swore at me. How it all ended.

At the end of it all, Liv releases a shaky breath. "Wow. That - that's a serious one."

"I know."

"Do you know that both of you are in the wrong?" she asked. "Because you are."

"But it's a valid point!" I protest. "Sure, his kisses were pecks on the lips, not long enough for him to actually force me to kiss him back, but the point still stands. What he did was wrong. I know he's above rape_, _but-"

"Lyssa, calm down."

I feel like snapping, "I am calm!" but realise it'll only serve to prove her point.

When I don't argue, she says, "Okay. So this situation with Freddie was more serious than we realised. Tell me: do you feel anxious around him?"

"Anxious?"

"As in on edge? Uncomfortable?"

I think back to the multitude of hours I've spent in Freddie's presence. "No...I wouldn't say I feel uncomfortable. I'm more irritated than anything."

"Are you sure?"

"Yeah, I am," I say confidently before adding, "I mean, I felt a bit uncomfortable with him when he stopped because he was - well, he was extra nice then, wasn't he? He was really friendly instead of - flirty."

"So he doesn't scare you?"

I laugh at that. The thought of Freddie Weasley with his puppy dog eyes and his crooked smile and his sweet tooth scaring me is a ridiculous one. There's no way around it.

"I'm guessing that's a resounding 'no'," she concludes. "Okay, that's a good thing. From his reaction in the argument, I'm gonna say that he treats rape like the rest of us-"

"How else is he supposed to treat it?"

Liv's voice is grim. "You'd be surprised at how some people see it. There's people out there that think that some girls ask for it when they wear certain clothes or get drunk or - I don't know - they're dating someone and don't feel ready to go all the way."

"That's disgusting," I say in revulsion.

She makes a noise of agreement. "I don't think Freddie's like one of them. You said he was hurt, right? That means he knows it's wrong and felt betrayed when you accused it of him. Though I _do _think you shouldn't have said that he's a future rapist if you don't think he's capable of it, it's still true that he needs a wake up call and what he did was wrong. I think you've planted the seed in his mind, you just need to drive it home."

"You mean, I need to argue with him again?"

"No, I think you need to talk to him firmly _without losing your temper _and tell him exactly what he's doing. He's not flirting with you, he's violating one of your rights." She pauses. "I'll be with you, of course." Another pause and then her voice creeps through the phone timidly, "I'm sorry I didn't tell him to back off sooner, Lyssa."

"It's okay."

And really, it is.

Because she's here now.

* * *

**DISCLAIMERS: I own neither **_**'All I Want For Christmas' **_**nor **_**'Jingle Bell Rock'**_**. The line _'methinks the lady dost protest too much' _is from Hamlet by Shakespeare_. _Contrary to popular opinion, I am not Shakespeare reincarnated.**

**AUTHOR'S NOTE: Hi! You see, I _meant _to upload another chapter by the end of November because a) I wanted to prove to myself that I could do it and b) after the phenomenal responses with the last chapter, I felt like you all deserved it. I've missed it by a few hours (read: 16 hours), but at least it's only the 1st November. So this chapter is dedicated to Melya Liz, serendipity, saamiya, IrelandLover and Guest as well as all the brave souls that are attempting NaNo. I'm a Rebel this year, but I'll be cheering you on.  
**

**Personally, this is a chapter that I love purely because of the conversation with Liv in the end when Lyssa finally gets someone who understands her. What are your thoughts?** **Oh, and to all of those that are wondering, Freddie's coming back in CH11 and he's staying.**

**Until next time,**

**elixirsoflife xo**

**[Also, if anyone has a tumblr, I also have a fanfiction-related one: .com. I reblog a lot of HP/Shadowhunter stuff as well as anything that makes me laugh and I also upload stuff related to my works such as snippets and (crappy) edits and little bits of background info. If anyone wants to ask me anything about the characters here, it's a good place to go :) ]**


	10. Battles, Baubles and Blood

**10.**

Somehow I didn't picture waking up on Christmas Eve to find my favourite knickers ruined. I expected something along the usual lines - waking up at seven am to Mum gleefully jumping on my bed and smothering me, Grandma yelling up the stairs for us all to get our lazy butts down for breakfast, Grandpa sneaking sweets into the pocket of my dressing robe - but instead, I woke up at half five in the morning to a familiar dread.

Grumbling angrily, I set about doing the usual whilst cursing everyone on the planet and crawled back into bed fifteen minutes later in a loose pair of joggers, a hoodie and fluffy socks with a hot water bottle pressed against my stomach.

"I hate life," I announce to the ceiling.

When it doesn't respond, I swear again, roll over and bury my face in my pillow.

After much difficulty, I manage to find a comfortable position I can fall asleep in. Lying partially on my stomach so that the hot water bottle is constantly pinned against me, I keep one cheek against my pillow, one leg thrown over my duvet and let my eyes fall shut.

It feels like barely any time has passed when I hear the door slam open and Mum launch herself onto my bed. Hands curl around my shoulder to shake me awake and I growl, opening an eye to glare at her. In a manner uncannily similar to Liv, she beams at my sullen expression.

"Cheer up, baby!" she exclaims happily. "It's Christmas Eve!"

"I don't care," I groan.

"Too bad."

She flops down beside me and burrows under the covers. I shift slightly to make some room for her and then drop my head onto her shoulder. Automatically, her fingers come up to thread through my wild curls, smoothing them back.

"What has you in such a mood on such a beautiful day?" she asks, a teasing note in her voice. "Moodier than usual, I mean."

"I started," I say sourly.

"Oh."

"Yeah. Oh."

Still running her fingers through my hair, she suggests, "How about this? If you get up, I'll make you a nice mug of hot chocolate."

"Can't you just make it anyway?"

She laughs. "That's out of the question, honey. You know that you're getting up if your Grandma has anything to say about it. In fact, I think I can hear her now." She cocks her head to the side and strains her ears. I mimic her, listening for the familiar thuds of a wooden spoon against the kitchen counter. Soon enough, Grandma's dulcet tones quickly reach our ears and Mum's amused voice mimics, "Alex! Damien! Talia! Alyssa! Come down for breakfast in five minutes before I drag you down myself!"

I groan in response.

But sure enough, I'm coerced out of bed by Mum. I shove my arms through the arms of my dressing robe and shuffle out of my room with my hot water bottle still pressed against my stomach. On the stairs, we bump into Uncle Damien and Grandpa, the former who still has some shaving cream on his jaw, the latter who presses a kiss against my temple, slips his hand into my pocket and then merrily continues down the stairs, whistling a jaunty tune. Smiling despite my best intentions, I extract a packet of Starbursts.

"Thanks, Grandpa," I call.

Just before he slips into the kitchen, he turns to grin at me. "I have no idea what you're talking about."

Trying to unwrap the sweets while still clinging onto my hot water bottle, I follow him into the kitchen to find Grandma scolding him for biting into one of the loaves of bread she baked.

"Alexander Chamberlain," she exclaims, swiping at his head. "Every single year, you fail to understand that we only eat when everyone is at the table."

"And yet every single year, you find yourself falling for me even more," he says.

Grandma gives him a vicious look that we all know she doesn't mean and he grins back at her, encouraged by our laughter, until she swipes at him again and he hurriedly sits down in his seat. Satisfied that he's under control, Grandma gestures us to all follow suit. In the meantime, she picks up a fresh loaf, places it on Grandpa's plate and then takes the bitten one for herself. Mum accepts the basket of bread from Grandma and selects two with poppy seeds dotted all over them for the two of us. Then, I hand the basket over to Uncle Damien.

We continue like this with every tray in the centre of the table until we also all have some bacon, scrambled eggs, smoked sausages and small triangles of cheese on our plates. In the centre of the table, Grandma has placed a platter of grapes alongside jugs of coffee, milk and water.

"Does everyone have a bit of everything?" she asks, peering at all our plates. We murmur our replies and she finally sits down; we take this as our cue to dig in, gladly picking up our knives and forks. "Eat," she commands unnecessarily, her voice taking on a gentler tone.

Breakfast passes by as it usually does on Christmas Eve, dissolving into a long, drawn-out affair in which we compliment Grandma's excellent culinary skills, listen to Grandpa fondly tell us about the "good old days" and try to coax out of them what really happened at the Bird Incident - he remains as tight-lipped as ever and Grandma fixes us with a look that plainly tells us that she's as closed as a coffin that's nailed shut - and I tell them about Hogwarts.

At Grandpa's insistence, I describe the castle for the millionth time. As I speak, a labyrinth of stone and winding corridors enters my mind's eye - one where gargoyles snidely remark on your every move, their twisted faces strangely distorted in their amusement; where gleaming suits of armour make a game of moving around without being caught in the act; where a poltergeist gleefully scrawls crude words on blackboards and dead men walk amongst students.

I think of sprawling grounds with magical plants literally bursting to life; paths to the Black Lake that have been beaten down for centuries' past by young witches and wizards, all of them just like me; of the Quidditch Pitch with its stands that tower majestically in the air and the forest on the outskirts, daring you to wander in.

I think of the wand I have tucked into my bedside drawer at the moment, of how it never leaves my person in the school, how it's usually a part of me, a mere extension of my arm instead of a tool to be used. Magic comes instinctively to me now.

"It sounds amazing," Mum declares. "Baby, you'll have to take us one day."

With an amused smile, I roll my eyes and choose not to mention the startlingly strong Muggle-Repelling Charm that has cloaked the castle ever since its inception.

Eventually, we move away from the kitchen and settle down in the living room. Mum wraps me in a dozen blankets with an "I haven't seen you in months, now let me love you" to answer my protests, waving away my offers to help her clean up. She returns ten minutes later with a batch of mugs precariously balanced on a tray and settles them down on the table before she hands one to everyone. A heavy aroma wafts into the air, enticingly sweet and warm. Accepting the mug she passes me, I shift around so that she can burrow under the blankets too and then take a long sip.

"Thanks," I murmur.

Since it's the Christmas season, all of the classic movies are on the telly. We work our way through _Home Alone_ and _Dr Seuss' How the Grinch Stole Christmas _before we stop for lunch which is just a quick bowl of soup and some more of the bread that Grandma baked the night before.

It's not until after lunch that the phone I keep on my person during the holidays trills loudly when I'm about to set up camp in the living room again. Excusing myself, I wander upstairs and flop down on my bed. Without even glancing at the screen, I pick up.

"Hey, Liv," I say.

"Lyssa!" she exclaims joyfully. "Finally: a female's voice!"

A laugh bubbles out of me. I roll over onto my back and pick at one of my curls. "Having a good time, then?"

She sighs, admitting, "Well, yeah, of course, I am. You know how I love Christmas." Of course, I do. Someone as cheerful as Liv can't not love as festive a holiday as this. "But - and I say this with the sincerest love possible - the guys are so irritating. I've already been mercilessly abused a hundred times since waking up."

I roll my eyes. "'Mercilessly abused'? Are you sure you're not a budding actress or anything with those dramatics? Forget potions, the theatre's the way for you."

"You don't understand, you've never suffered a holiday with them," she says earnestly. "You know those Screaming Yo-Yos that WWW International sell? All of them - Dad, Colin, Uncle Grayson, Uncle Daniel, Uncle Peter, Grandpa Maddox, even Grandpa _Creevey _of all people - all of them snuck into my room at six in the morning and started swinging them around to wake me up. And then when I did wake up, they all lay on top of me until I admitted that they're all kings and that I am nothing but a lowly peasant." When I laugh, she protests, "It's not funny!"

"It's kinda funny." I grin. "If you really want to get back at them, prank them back."

"I've tried. It's just not possible. They're unbeatable and I'm telling you now that they have a rota of when they fall asleep because one of them is always on guard duty."

"Wait until you're at Hogwarts and prank Colin, then."

"I can't do that," she says. "If I prank him, McLaggen will take that as a cue for him to bully Colin and there's no way that I will let that insufferable prick near my brother."

"Then you'll have to suffer through it."

"Or," she says, stretching out the word for several beats, "you can hop on the Knight Bus, tell them to take you to Hazel Grove and save me."

"I'm kinda celebrating over here," I say.

"But Lyssa! I am your best friend and I am in need! All you have to do is stay with me for the rest of the holidays. Your uncanny resemblance to a Dementor will force them to behave and they won't dare to approach me if you're around."

"I'll take that as a compliment."

"So you'll come?"

"No," I scoff. "We still have loads to do here. We're gonna decorate the Christmas tree in a bit and after that we have to set up the kitchen and help Grandma cook some of the dishes. And after that, we're gonna eat the feast she's prepared for us, followed by some more decorating and wrapping presents."

She hums in displeasure. "So you're going to abandon me."

"Pretty much."

"Traitor."

"Oh, you do flatter me too much."

"And to think that I just sent out Gaz out with your present," she sniffs. "Clearly, I should've kept it all for myself if this is how you treat me."

I smirk again. "Well, it's too late now. And why the _hell _is your dad's new owl called 'Gaz'?"

"I don't know, I've given up on trying to understand him," she exclaims in exasperation. A laugh is in her voice when she continues, "Colin and I think he was drunk. According to Uncle Grayson, he's a bit of a lightweight."

"Lovely."

"Anyways-" I hear rustling on her end of the line as she shifts in her position. She drops the phone with a soft thud and, fainter than before, a curse drifts through. "Sorry about that," she says once it's back in her hand. "What was I saying? Oh, yeah! So...you know the drill: when Gaz-"

"Gaz."

"-arrives at your house, feed him some water and the owl treats I've sent along with him and then send the present you bought for me back with him. But if you want, you can tell me what you bought me, okay. I mean, only if you can't hold it in for any longer. I know how you can be with that sort of thing. It's the sort of thing that tends to kill you inside so I'm not going to put pressure on you to stay qui-"

"Nice try, Liv. Now, shut up."

* * *

"_OH, I WISH IT COULD BE CHRISTMAS EVERYDAY."_

Apparently, Mum is uncannily similar to Liv. Due to my habit of attracting persistently cheerful idiots, I have to listen to them both bawl ballads whenever it's Christmas. I can only thank the lord that they're not doing it together.

Neither of them can sing.

"Please stop," I say flatly as I unpack the cardboard box of decorations or as the sign on it says 'THE BOX OF DREAMS AND ALL THINGS GOOD IN THE WORLD'. Guess whose writing it is? Mum's.

"You're just saying that because you're jealous," she says in a very matter-of-fact tone, "but it's okay. It's pretty hard not be jealous of me." She tosses her curls over her shoulder dramatically.

"If you insist."

The fifteenth hour of the day has dawned and as per family tradition, the official decorating of the tree has begun. Like every year, we have a fake tree up, but it still stands quite impressively in the corner of the room near the electric fire. Branches arch out towards the ground, bare and ready to be adorned with all sorts of ornaments.

Uncle Damien switches on the radio while the rest of us set about laying everything out so we can clearly see what is going onto the tree: baubles that we decorated ourselves when we were little, long trails of fairy lights, ornaments shaped like snowflakes with glistening edges, bunches of little bells that tinkle when shaken and hangers in all shapes and sizes. Pride of place is a brilliant gold star of an impressive size that I carefully extract from the cloth it's bound in all year round.

"Alright, kids," Grandpa says with a smile, "have at it."

Immediately, Mum, Uncle Damien and I snatch up as many ornaments as we can and hurry to the tree in the corner. Decorating the Christmas tree is undeniably the best part of Christmas Eve, simply because it's more active and usually provides us with stories to swap around for the next few years. At first, though, it's still relatively calm. We hum along to the music and hang the decorations up properly, instinctively knowing what goes where and how it's placed. Then, Uncle Damien acts like - well, he acts like a typical guy.

"No, no, no, Damien!" Mum exclaims vehemently. Ripping the hanger off the branch, she shoves it back into his hand. "You're ruining the entire thing. Can't you see the pattern I've been doing?"

Uncle Damien scowls. "No."

"I don't see how you don't."

Me either. I mean, clearly she's hanging a bauble with blue patterns on it followed by a bell which is then followed by a clear bauble and then another bell and another bauble with blue patterns. It's really quite simple.

"Maybe because there is no bloody pattern?"

"Don't get snippy with me!" she exclaims. "And there is clearly a pattern here."

"No, there's not."

"Yes, there is."

"There really isn't."

"Yes, there is!"

"Well, if there is, it's fuck-"

"DAMIEN CHAMBERLAIN," Mum explodes, letting the ornament in her hand drop to the floor so that she can grab him by the ear. She ignores his cry of pain and yanks him closer. "Don't you dare swear in front of my baby."

Even though she's annoyed, I can't help but remind her, "Um, Mum? You do know I've heard people swear before? I mean, I'm fifteen."

"That is irrelevant," she says tightly.

"You're irrelevant," Uncle Damien snaps and then lets out an ear-splitting shriek when she twists his ear. "OW! Ow, ow, ow - DAD, WILL YOU TELL TALIA TO STOP TORTURING ME?!"

"Dad, will you tell Damien to stop being such an idiot?" Mum snaps.

Grandpa doesn't even glance up from the newspaper in his lap. Slowly turning the page, he calmly says, "No."

I burst out laughing at their scandalised expressions.

"But Dad-" Uncle Damien protests.

"Damien, you're in your thirties. I think you can handle a little pain. And Talia, it's possible to tell someone politely that what they're doing is wrong."

"But it's Damien," Mum says.

Grandpa finally looks up from his newspaper. I stifle my next laugh at his incredulous look. Don't ask me how he's managed to do it, but his face is completely unamused even though I know that he's finding the situation as hilarious as I am.

"You do realise you have a fifteen year old daughter, right?" he asks. "One that's apparently more mature than you if the way you're acting says anything?"

Mum narrows her eyes. Finally, she admits defeat and reluctantly releases Uncle Damien from her grip. He staggers away from her with a few curses and then picks up the fairy lights and begins to carefully wind them around the Christmas tree. Almost as quickly as the whole kerfuffle began, it fades away into normalcy.

It doesn't last.

Several times over the next hour and a half that we spend on the tree, Mum and Uncle Damien disagree over the placement of a certain decoration or two ("bloody hell, Talia, can't you see that I've bagged this bloody branch?"), Grandma pops in to scold us for shouting ("will there ever be one _wigilia _where you don't argue?") and I end up smashing one of the glass snowflakes to which Mum promptly shoves me out of harm's way by practically throwing me onto the sofa. Nevertheless, we manage to make it there in the end.

"And all we have left is the star!" Mum exclaims, partly out of relief and partly out of festive joy. Said ornament nestles in the palms of her hands on top of its checkered cloth like a prize to be won. She turns to me. "Baby, would you like to do the honours?"

Under the eyes of the entire family, I take the star like I've done for as long as I can remember and step toward the Christmas tree, feeling incredibly important. Once I'm beside the tree, Uncle Damien snickers.

"Once again, you're too short."

I turn to give him a filthy glare. In response, he quickly hurries over and lifts me up in his arms so I can place the star at the top. As soon as we step away, everyone bursts into cheers.

"Now that that's over, I'll help Mum out with the rest of the cooking," Mum says, rubbing her hands together.

"I'll come too," I offer.

She shakes her head firmly and sits me down on the sofa once I've slipped out of Uncle Damien's grip. "No, no. You're going to sit here and relax until it's time for the meal and not a second sooner." Cocking her head toward the window, she adds, "See if you can find a star this year." With that, she promptly follows Grandma into the kitchen.

Traditionally, the supper doesn't begin until the First Star is spotted when celebrating Christmas Eve in Poland. Considering we live in England, however, there's usually too much pollution to see even one twinkle of light in the sky so we usually end up eating around half an hour after dusk. Still, ever since I was a little girl, Grandma has encouraged me to look up at the darkening sky and search my hardest for a star to appear so taking to the windowsill isn't an unusual task for me.

After a few minutes, I become aware of another presence beside me. Without even turning my head, I know it's Grandpa.

"How's my little granddaughter doing?" he asks, nudging me slightly.

"I'm okay," I say honestly.

"No, you're not."

My eyebrows lift in surprise. "I'm not?"

"You're not."

"Okay. And just why am I not okay?"

"I was hoping you'd tell me that," he says. "Preferably over a game of chess, but we've already played that today. You can do it while we look for a star in this bloody fog."

"There's nothing to talk about," I say.

"Oh, there's always something to talk about," he says in an unconcerned tone. With a gentle brush of his fingers, he pushes my hair away from my face so it falls down my back in a waterfall of knotted curls. "It's just up to you whether you want to talk about it."

Instinct tells me to refuse to. After all, this is Grandpa so he won't mind as much as Grandma would if I do. But at the same time...this is Grandpa. He's always been an understanding person.

"Why do you think something's wrong?" I ask.

"I know my granddaughter," he says. "I know that you care a lot about your schoolwork and want the best future possible for you, but darling, sometimes you have to remember to breathe. If you're not with your mum or one of us or working at Damien's place, you're studying. It's a good thing that you care - a great thing, even. If _I'd_ cared when I was at school, I'd probably have a better job. But at the same time, it's not healthy."

Oh.

So it's about studying, then.

Well, that's unexpected.

"I just want to get Es. Preferably Os."

"I'm not going to pretend to understand that," he says, "but I respect that. I just think you need to take a step back and remember that you're only human. You won't be perfect. And you should probably apply that to whatever else is bothering you as well."

Guilt curls the edges of my lips within seconds. "I have no idea what you're talking about."

"No?"

"No." I shake my head. "I'm not - I'm not bothered by anything else. And if I was, I'd have a feeling that the issue will be resolved soon."

"Good." He continues to search the night sky for a star. "It's not good to hold grudges. That's something your grandmother taught me. Once upon a time, I was a bit of an angry bloke - I know, I know what you're thinking: how can Grandpa ever have been angry when he's so calm, not to mention unbelievably good looking? But she very plainly told me that I was wasting my time and being rather pig-headed. It's an ugly fact of life, but people _will_ wrong you. It's up to you to be the bigger man - or woman, in your case." When I open my mouth to protest, he says, "Trust me when I say that it makes you feel a lot better. You don't have to _like _whoever you're angry with. You don't have to care about them. You just need to make some sort of peace with them, even if it's only one-sided."

* * *

No star is found in the sky tonight, but that doesn't stop the supper from commencing. Grandma ladens the table with a variety of traditional dishes including mushroom soup, Polish-style pike, sauerkraut and pierogi. For dessert, she produces a batch of cookies and some mixed fruit to idly munch on before we separate our ways to hurriedly wrap the presents up (and try to sneak up on other people to see what they've bought), only to meet up to place them under the Christmas tree.

Christmas Eve is always done Grandma's way. To honour the traditions she grew up with, we celebrate it the way she enjoys it, letting Grandpa take the lead the next day. Tonight, we break the _oplatek_, listen to her sing carols in a language we can't quite imitate and enjoy the meal she went to such lengths to whip up. Afterwards, Uncle Damien, Mum and I all cover our eyes and snatch up a straw from the pile in the middle of the table.

"Short and curvy," Uncle Damien says. He grins. "My type."

"And yet you're still unmarried?" Grandma challenges half-heartedly. "Damien, I don't see why you won't settle down with a nice girl. Am I doomed to only have one grandchild?"

"It's because Uncle Damien's ugly, that's why," I say in a very matter-of-fact tone.

"Shut up," he says playfully. Reaching over, he swipes my piece of straw from my hands. "What've you got? Ew. Tall and skinny. _Skinny_. You're going to marry a _twig_."

"At least she will get married!" Grandma exclaims. "Which is more than I can say for my own children!"

Biting my lip, I choose not to inform her that I'll never do anything of the sort. If anything, I'll be spending the rest of my life with a nice job. And Mum and Liv, of course.

* * *

Whenever Mother Nature presents me with my monthly gift, I tend to wake up early. This is the only reason that I am awake at six in the morning before Mum has even burst into my room in a flurry of excitement. This is the only reason why I'm leaning against my windowsill, staring out into the darkness, my hand supporting my head.

It's not because I'm waiting for the Owl.

It's not because of that at all.

I'm simply...stargazing.

I idly finger my charm bracelet while I look out of the window. The metal of the links is cool against my skin yet the charms themselves buzz with a faint warmth, almost impossible to detect after all this time. I press the pads of my fingers against them, memorise the curve of each one - each dip, each edge, each minute engravement - so that if they fade with time, I'll know them like the back of my hand.

For another hour, I stand like that until Mum throws open the door and gathers me in a tight hug again. "Oh, my baby girl! Isn't it such a merry Christmas? There's been a fresh snowfall; your Uncle Damien and I are thinking of having a snowball fight before breakfast? Wanna sneak out with us?"

With one last look at the empty windowsill, I follow her downstairs.

It turns out that we're not the only ones who have planned to make use of the fresh snow so early in the morning. Barely minutes have passed after we've slipped out when I feel something crash against my back as I'm bent over my rapidly increasing arsenal of snowballs. Turning around, I catch sight of a familiar face.

"_Jack_."

"Hullo, Chamberlain."

He has the audacity to grin at me.

From that second onwards, it's a war.

Snowballs fly through the air like missiles, whistling and whirring, gracefully arching upwards before crashing against their targets with a tremendous _splat_! We dive behind random cars in the street, don't even bother creating fancy little balls, but chuck crude imitations at each other wildly and run as fast as we can. As always, it's exhilarating. Perhaps it's nothing compared to what I can do with a wand, but it's certainly much more _active_.

Our battle becomes too much for Mum and Uncle Damien, who duck inside as soon as Jack releases an onslaught of projectiles shower over us, so it's just the two of us left. After a while of fighting it out, he gives up and simply tackles me to the ground. I land against the snow with a thud. Cold instantly seeps into my clothes, creeping up my back like a python, but I don't make any inclination to move. The snow has been completely ravaged. I'm happy with that.

"That was fun," I say breathlessly.

"Yeah," Jack agrees. "Merry Christmas, by the way." I murmur the same back to him and he continues, "So, you opened your presents yet?"

"No. Have you?"

"Nah. What do you think you got?"

"Books, probably," I say. "Chocolate." I neglect to mention the bra set that I'm 99% sure Mum's gifted me.

He makes an understanding noise in the back of his throat. "Ah. Yeah. Forgot you were a posh girl. Do all the kids in your fancy boarding school read books, then?"

"Jealous that we know how to read in the first place, Jack?"

"'Course, I am. I'm freakin' blind with envy, aren't I?"

"Mm."

After we make a couple of snow angels and shove each other into the snow some more, Jack and I go into our separate houses. I enter mine to find Grandma perched near the living room window with a disapproving look on her face. Before she can lecture me about the risks about going out without the proper clothing, I hurry upstairs to change into something warmer.

Mum lounges on my bed languidly, making herself at home. When I stroll in, she jumps up and shoves a bag at me before I have time to even blink.

"Open it!" she says eagerly. While I extract a package from the bag, she goes on to babble, "It's a really nice present if I do say so myself, but I can't give it you in front of the others. Mum will have my head on a pike in a heartbeat and I think Dad and Damien might both have heart attacks if they see it so we'll keep this one between you and me. I hope you like it. I mean, I really think that it's time you stepped out of your comfort zone a little. Just a little, you know what I mean? I mean, you're growing up now! Part of me doesn't want to admit it because you're my baby, but the other-"

"Mum," I cut across her. "Breathe."

She stops and bites her lip sheepishly. "Sorry."

"It's okay." I roll my eyes.

When I open it, it's what I predicted: a bra and a pair of knickers. A pair that's more mature than anything I own. What I do own is fairly girly and cute, but _these _bridge the gap Mum thinks I'm old enough to cross. In a surprisingly classy way.

"Do you like it?" she asks nervously. "It's okay if you don't. I mean-"

"Mum, it's fine. I like it," I say.

"Really?"

"Yeah. I was going to have to buy something like this sooner or later, wasn't I? At least now I have something that's definitely not trashy."

After I reassure her a couple more times that I'm perfectly fine with the gift (and no, I don't feel awkward getting it and yes, I agree with her when she says that it's perfectly normal for her to buy me stuff like this, especially considering that we're pretty close as far as mothers and daughters go), I pack it away in my school trunk and follow her downstairs.

The windowsill is still empty.

Unlike yesterday, breakfast is a quicker affair, but no less delicious. Most of us are impatient to open our presents so we scoff down our pancakes, dump our plates in the sink to wash up later and gather around the Christmas tree. Uncle Damien switches on the electric fire so that we can get a bit warmer before he kicks it all off by passing the presents around to their respective recipients.

"Okay," Grandpa says. "On the count of - GO!"

We tear into them like savages.

My haul for this year turns out to be pretty good. From Grandpa, I receive the newly completed trilogy of _The Last Hours_ by Cassandra Clare, all of them in pristine condition. Grandma hands me a box of chocolates and a new dress - a brilliant splash of red, knee length with bluebell sleeves - while Mum's second gift comprises of homemade cupcakes with Christmas themed icing and an assortment of lipsticks. Meanwhile, Uncle Damien wraps up a bath set for me in the tackiest wrapping paper he can find. Finally, Liv bestows upon me a book called _Runes in Ancient Magical Mythology _along with a special edition goody bag of Chocolate Frogs.

"Are those the chocolates with the moving pictures?" Mum asks curiously, picking one out. At my nod, she reads out loud.

_"CHOCOLATE FROGS: THE ORDER OF THE PHOENIX SPECIAL EDITION. Number 6: Remus John Lupin. Born March 10th 1960 and died May 2nd 1998. He was a member of both the first and the second strains of the Order of the Phoenix and died in the Battle of Hogwarts at the hand of Antonin Dolohov. Because of his valiant efforts against You-Know-Who and the Death Eaters, he was the first ever werewolf to receive an Order of Merlin which was awarded to him posthumously. Lupin attended school with several other Order members, including his best friends, Sirius Black and James Potter, who were known for their mischievous ways. In his later years, he married fellow Order member, Nymphadora Tonks, and fathered a son. Teddy Lupin lives on today."_

"Well, that's tragic," Uncle Damien says after a moment of silence. Mum swipes at him irritably. "What? It is!"

"You're so _insensitive_, Damien. 'That's tragic.' Honestly!"

When I go to bed that night, the Owl still hasn't arrived. I clench my charm bracelet as I stare at the empty windowsill. Maybe it flew off-course? Maybe it's been sent out late? Maybe I'm just overreacting?

Just in case, I leave the window open.

It'll be here in the morning, I'm sure.

* * *

**DISCLAIMERS: I do not own the Starbursts****_. _****The sweets are manufactured by the Wrigley Company. I don't own ****_Home Alone _****or ****_Dr Seuss' How the Grinch Stole Christmas_****, either. Cassie Clare's ****_The Last Hours _****series is a trilogy set in her Shadowhunters Chronicles world (you know, the Mortal Instruments, The Infernal Devices etc.) and the first book will be out sometime in the next year or two, I think.**

**AUTHOR'S NOTE: Alright, I'll admit it. I'm not Polish in any way or form which is why I'm slightly nervous about this chapter since Grandma Chamberlain is and they celebrate Christmas Eve in her way. I didn't go into too much detail just in case I was wrong. Also a bit hesitant about the way I wrote her - I had a discussion with someone on the forums and they gave me some pointers, but she just didn't agree with some of them and did whatever she wanted. Oops...**

**Anyways, do you think I've scared any of the male readers off? ****_Are _****there any male readers in the first place? Let me know in the review box below! Your reviews always make me happy. There haven't been many for the recent chapters which is why I'd like to thank Stella Rose for brightening my day by taking the time to leave the one for CH9!**

**For anyone who's wondering: Freddie's in the next chapter.**

**elixirsoflife xo  
**


	11. Darling, This Isn't Wonderland

**11.**

To be honest, I don't know how it happened.

Actually, that's a lie. I _do _know how it happened - how my _idiocy _regarding Christmas began, when, where and essentially why - but I don't know how I _let _myself do it. Let myself be swept away by the tawny owls, the neat cursive writing and the tiny silk pouch - a small thing, nothing bigger than my thumb and coloured a deep, dark black, a silver ribbon complementing it perfectly - and the tiny bit of myself that just wanted to have a little hope.

Look where it's landed me. Staring at the darkening sky the day after Boxing Day, still trying to convince myself that perhaps there's been a simple delay this year, that it was bound to happen sometime.

The owl _has _to come.

I don't want to think of the implications if it doesn't.

Time ticks by slowly, a repetitive reminder of how many seconds, minutes, hours have passed. A dull metronome of cold indifference, ceaselessly marching on, beckoning the night to come down and chase the day away; not caring about the fact that it's been two days and the owl still hasn't come and, now that I think about it, will probably never come and it doesn't care about the fact that I've been nothing more than an idiot for all these years and-

The clock strikes four o'clock.

Something inside me snaps.

With rough fingers, I snatch up my coat from the floor and carelessly pull it on, ignoring the wince of pain that shudders through my skull when my hair snags on the zip as I do so. I take to the stairs, rushing down them in my haste and hurry over to the front door. No one is in the house except myself and Grandma so I am more than able to shout back at her that I'm going out and run before she can call me back.

Of course, it's a bit difficult to run in snow.

Yet I go on, stumbling through the goddamn cold until I'm far enough from the house to be out of the danger zone that perpetually follows Grandma around. Slowing down so I can catch my breath, I cast my thoughts to the mess that's presented itself to me in the recent hours. I idly examine my surroundings without really taking them in, too absorbed in making sense of it all.

The owl never came.

I've been so stupid all this time.

It began in first year, you see. I can still remember the day clearly: upon returning to my bedroom from the Christmas breakfast to change into a different nightie set, I was greeted with a fairly nondescript owl hopping on my windowsill, a pouch as dark as obsidian attached to its leg. Of course, my immediate reaction was nothing less than suspicion at the time that only heightened when I unfurled the note inside.

_Alyssa,_

_Someone told me that you're an amazing witch. Let this charm be a reminder of that._

_Merry Christmas._

It was sent along with a bracelet with a charm shaped like a wand that I later discovered released mini sparks when tapped with my actual wand. I didn't find that out for a while, reluctant to touch it in case it was dodgy and merely shoved the pouch into my trunk until I marched up to Professor Longbottom and demanded to find out whether it was safe or not. It was. So I wore it.

The next year, the same thing happened. Another little tawny owl was sent along, proudly bearing the insignia of the Owl Post Office at Diagon Alley, an identical pouch secured to its leg. A small snowflake charm that turned to ice when tapped and another note nestled inside it.

_Alyssa,_

_Even if it doesn't snow at home this year, you'll always have a bit of it with you this way._

_Merry Christmas._

By the time third and fourth year arrived, I had grown attached to the charms. They were tangible proof that someone out there _cared _about me and though I could - and still can - honestly say that it didn't matter to me whether or not I was liked by everyone, it felt good to know that someone other than my family and Liv genuinely wanted me to feel appreciated. Cherishing such things were foreign to me, seemed like the sort of stuff other kinds of girls did, but I couldn't help the warmth that bloomed inside whenever I caught sight of the charms dangling from my wrist.

By third year, I was hurrying up the stairs to greet the owl. That year was the time I received a charm of _Hogwarts: A History_ that enlarged into a large, readable copy when activated. The note had read:

_Alyssa,_

_A charm that's a combination of three things you love: books, magic and Hogwarts. Keep on smiling._

_Merry Christmas._

Fourth year saw the addition of a gorgeous butterfly charm whose wings fluttered at the touch of my wand.

_Alyssa,_

_I'm not quite sure why this reminds me of you. Maybe it's because butterflies always seemed so free to me? You deserve to be the same._

_Merry Christmas._

And in fifth year...nothing.

I don't know what to do about that. Because those charms aren't just pretty chunks of twisted metal to me, little masterpieces of elaborate silver that have been painstakingly engraved with each minute detail, filed until the edges are as smooth as the notes that come hand in hand with them. I didn't just assume that some stranger decided to send them out of their own good will. What I really thought was much more embarrassing than that.

In the end, a little part of me still clinged onto the stupid, _stupid _hope that it might've been my dad. That maybe he was a wizard. Maybe he heard about me from someone whose kid also went to Hogwarts and this was his admittedly crappy way of making me feel a little more loved.

How pathetic.

Because in the end, it's not my cowardly father who put so much effort into buying my present - hunting shops for a charm that meant something to me, printing the note with one of those quills that are specially designed for blind people to use (you know, the ones that write whatever the owner tells it to and does so in a beautifully neat font) and paid one of the owls to send it off. It's someone I wrote off instantly when I first tried to narrow down my options to who might've been thoughtful enough to do so.

It's Freddie fucking Weasley.

Because why else would the charm not arrive this year?

And who else would go to such lengths to conceal their identity from me so that I'd accept the present instead of throwing it at their face like I'd done with many of their so-called 'presents' in first year?

Curling my hands into tight balls, I stop at the street corner and let out a scream of frustration. I stomp my feet like a little child, aggravated more than ever.

How - how _dare _he? All this time, he's been Freddie Weasley - testing out cheesy pick up lines on me, lightly pressing kisses to my mouth, smiling that infuriatingly charming smile of his - and I've been clinging onto his charms for years, always wearing each and every single one and he's never said a thing to me, never even hinted at the fact that he knows exactly where I got them from. He's annoyed me even as he's lended me some semblance of comfort without my bloody knowledge. He's made me feel sure about myself in the few times that I haven't.

"This isn't fair," I whisper furiously. "It can't be Freddie." I impatiently swipe at a stray tear. "And I'm not going to bloody cry because it's not - it's not - _him_. _He's_ just an idiot that doesn't know how to handle commitment. Face it, Alyssa, you knew it wasn't _him _all along."

Because if my father hadn't loved me enough to stay, he sure as hell didn't love me enough to send those charms.

"So what if it was Freddie? That doesn't change anything. It doesn't excuse what he's done."

I've always known he's a fairly nice guy. But he's made some pretty _horrible _choices. Speaking to him feels more urgent now that I know the truth because I can't just ignore the fact that he's the sender of some of my most prized possessions. He has the potential to be better than he is right now.

Stupid, _stupid _Freddie Weasley.

I can't believe it's been him all along.

My resolve becomes clear in that instant. When I next see Freddie Weasley, I'm going to march up to him and inform him just why I was in the right with what I said and then I'm going to demand that he tells me why he sent the charms. I mean, he didn't even _like _me in first year. He literally spent his time devising ways to slip me half a Puking Pastille. It makes no sense.

Taking a deep breath to regather myself, I wipe my face clean of any telltale tear tracks - honestly, I can't believe I _cried _over such a mundane thing - and push my hair back out of it. Once I'm under control, I look around for a sign to indicate where I am and realise that I'm on the same street as the cornershop that Grandpa works at in the weekends and on Mondays. Deciding that having him by my side when I go home will make Grandma go a lot easier on me, I trudge along the street, taking my time just to ensure that I look perfectly fine for when I enter.

Warmth cascades over me when I push open the door. Truth be told, I didn't even realise I was cold outside since I'm so used to the Scottish climate, but as the heat rushes through me, my fingers burn and loosen up and my cheeks flush bright red from the sudden contrast of temperatures.

I meander through the nearest aisle until I reach Grandpa at the counter. He has a sudoku book open in front of him, one hand on a cup of tea, the other idly clicking his top of his pen on and off. At the sound of my footsteps, he looks up with a genial grin eerily reminiscent of the smile I paste on at Uncle Damien's.

"Alyssa!" he exclaims, features falling into a more natural-looking expression. "What brings you to my palace on this fine day?"

"Just thought I'd visit you," I lie with a little shrug.

"Ah." He drops his pen with a knowing look and leans forward. Mischievous glint in his eyes, he lowers his voice and asks, "Amelia driving you mad, is she?"

I pull away with a laugh. "Grandma's actually not that bad today. Of course, she _might _be when we go back."

"You didn't tell her you left, did you?"

"Technically, I screamed it as I was leaving, but you know how Grandma is."

"I _have _been married to her since I was twenty," he acknowledges.

I want to ask him how. I want to ask him how he has managed to stay for so long and why my father didn't. I want to ask him why he sticks around even when Grandma drives him crazy and why he didn't just "do a runner" like my father did as Uncle Damien once eloquently put it. I want to ask him why he's so honourable when so many people out there aren't.

Instead, I say, "If I buy anything, will I get a family discount?" with a saccharine smile that's only the slightest bit sharp.

Grandpa glances back at his sudoku book. Dismissively gesturing to his grand domain, he says, "If it's under a pound, it's free."

Satisfied, I head back down the aisle I walked up, scanning the shelves for anything interesting. Sweets upon sweets stack up at one side, their wrappers gleaming underneath the fluorescent lights while cheap little games and toys lie about haphazardly, the neat arrangement they were once in ruined by the day's worth of kids that have trickled in and out. I cock my head to the side curiously and then reach my hand out.

Not quite sure why, I wrap my fingers around a pack of playing cards and then slowly wander back to Grandpa.

/

The rest of the Christmas holidays pass with little excitement. Uncle Damien lets me work a few hours each day and then gives me my wages a couple of days before I'm due to leave; Grandma sits at home with me while I wait for Mum to come home and together we watch reruns of _America's Next Top Model_ and _Escape to the Country;_ Grandpa returns from work everyday with sweets and convinces me to play wizards' chess with him; and Mum spends her free time with me doing everything from going to the park to baking.

When it's time to go, I hug all of them extra tightly and kiss Mum goodbye on her cheek. She cups my face in her hands when I pull back.

"Oh, my baby," she says, a sad smile twisting her mouth. "If only you could take me with you."

"One day," I promise.

She leans forward and presses a kiss onto my forehead. "I'll be waiting with Odysseus until that day comes. Now, go. Be clever and get all those O.W.L.s you want. And remember that I've put some cupcakes along with your packed lunch in your bag, enough to share them with all of your friends. And remember to write me when you arrive."

"And remember that if you write to me directly, I won't hesitate to injure the damned bird that delivers it," Uncle Damien chimes in.

Without even whipping around to glare at him, Mum swipes at him and then steps away from me. I spend a second to study her closely, commit her profile to memory once again until I can next see her, and then turn around to extend my wand arm.

BANG.

Seemingly out of nowhere, the Knight Bus skids into view, a towering, hideously purple affair with its name scrawled in gold font on the windshields. The door slides open and the conductor pops out, a portly man of about twenty five with a ridiculously tall wizards' hat on. Thank God, none of the Muggles can see them.

"Aren't you up bright and early this morning, sunshine?" he asks, looking around the street. "Eight am."

"I'm a Hogwarts student," I explain.

He nods thoughtfully and then claps a hand to his forehead, almost knocking back his hat. "Bloody hell, I almost forgot to introduce myself! I am Wagner Wale, your conductor for this evening and this is the Knight Bus - that's knight with a k, by the way - the emergency transport for the stranded witch or wizard. If you'd like to board the bus, I'll just grab your trunk."

Wagner Wale gestures for me to get on so I do, casting one final glance back at my confused family. He ignores them completely and hauls the trunk onto the bus, panting heavily as he does so.

"Are you in your fifth or seventh year," he gasps, "because this thing weighs a tonne?"

"Fifth," I say in amusement.

"Thought so," he says. With a wave of his wand, he closes the doors and leans against the driver's booth, catching his breath. "Ravenclaw?"

"Gryffindor."

He gives me an appraising look at that and then shrugs it off. "So you're headed off to Kings' Cross, then? That'll be 15 sickles."

The journey to the station is as expected: rough, jumpy and as hectic as the Knight Bus' reputation claims it is. I cling onto the holster of my armchair with the grip of a python, my stomach protesting the violently swift driving. It jumps from place to place as people after people call for its services, a considerable number of them being Hogwarts students too. Eventually, we park in an alleyway close to the station and I'm off it as quickly as possible, hurling out a "thank you" to be polite.

I ignore all of the other students at Platform Nine and Three Quarters in favour of choosing a compartment - since most people haven't yet arrived, no one's too bothered about getting seats yet so I have one of the first picks - and find a nondescript one somewhere in the middle with a window that faces the platform. Settling down in the seat nearest to said window, I open up the first in the trilogy that Grandpa gifted me and lose myself in the glittering streets of L.A's Downworld.

Shortly before the train sets off, Liv hunts me down and attacks me with a hug, one that I accept with a roll of my eyes. We spend the rest of the ride with the compartment to ourselves, talking as if we haven't seen each other in years rather than weeks. She fills me in on all the antics her uncles got up to, going into a lot of detail on the ones I haven't yet heard of and then tells me about how the last couple of days with her mum was the highlight of her holiday, her saving grace.

When we're not talking, we're eating. Liv forks out a considerable amount for the trolley lady because they ran out of food in her house ("I'm telling you now that it was Uncle Grayson _again_!") and the Creeveys didn't have enough time to shop for packed lunches today. Meanwhile, I munch on the veggie patty Mum bought from Subway for me and work my way through the dozen cupcakes that she baked. Of course, Liv helps me.

"Hey," she says suddenly at one point, taking hold of my wrist. "You don't have a new charm."

"Not enough money." I shrug.

Yes. The charm is the one thing that I lie to Liv about. Normally, I wouldn't, but it's something personal to me and me alone. Telling her about the suspicions I had about the sender in first year would've ruined the magic of it all and brought reality crashing down on me. Of course, now that I know, I _can _tell her that I never bought them...but something holds me back. Admitting to another person that Freddie Weasley sent them to me won't let me ignore the truth for a while longer.

"Oh, okay," she says simply.

She doesn't bring it up again.

We spend time in comfortable silence, me with my book, she with the latest copy of Witch Weekly. When we do come out of the silence, it's because she's somehow persuaded me into letting her do my makeup. It's not that I have anything against wearing it - I just don't understand what's the point of doing so on a normal day.

"This is so exciting!" she exclaims giddily as we sit cross-legged on the floor. "I can't remember the last time you let me do this!"

"The last day of fourth year," I supply.

Proudly, Liv declares that she's become even more talented at applying makeup since then so she can have even more fun with my face. I try not to let my apprehension seep into my expression as she makes a show of applying something liquid-based onto my face and let my eyes fall shut.

"Now, I can't put foundation on you," she says, "since you have a different skin tone to me. You have quite olive skin while I have a rather yellow undertone."

"You what?"

"Just go with it, Lyssa."

By the time the Hogwarts Express rolls into Hogsmeade Station, she has just about finished. I have barely enough time to distractedly glance at my reflection in the mirror she triumphantly thrusts into my face before I yank my robes over my head and hurry out of the compartment, dragging her along. Since we are in the lovely land of Scotland, the sky has graced us with a terrific rainfall; that means that the nearest carriages will be fought over and I intend to get one. She laughs at my grim look of determination.

"Cheer up, Lyssa," she exclaims. "Your makeup won't get ruined. The products are all from the _Impervious _line."

"Yes, because that's what I'm worried about," I say sarcastically. "Hurry up before we get pneumonia!"

Thankfully, we manage to conquer one of the carriages, both squeezing into one full of other fifth years from an assortment of houses. Glancing around, I'm surprised to find that I actually recognise them all: Keaton Cattermole and Haven Kowalski from Gryffindor, Kaito Nakamura from Hufflepuff, Gaspard Dumont and Taryn Westwood from Ravenclaw and Isabella Thicknesse from Slytherin who looks distinctly uncomfortable in the present circumstances.

"Hey, guys!" Liv exclaims exuberantly after a slightly pregnant pause.

"Hey, Liv." Haven Kowalski smiles. Though I've rarely spoken to her since she sleeps in the other fifth year girls' dormitory, I know that she's in Care of Magical Creatures with Liv so they're well acquainted. "How was your holiday?"

"Great," she says, "except everyone pranked me." Directing the question at everyone, she asks, "So how were all yours?"

Everyone murmurs their replies, focusing all of their attention on Liv and happily ignoring me. Not complaining about it, I lean back and listen to the rain ceaselessly beat down onto the roof of the carriage, waiting for the moment it rolls to a stop outside of Hogwarts.

Isabella Thicknesse does the same. She only leaves her silence to greet Liv with some warmth in return to my best friend's cheery "Hey, Isabella!" before she hesitates and inclines her head as a greeting toward me before sinking back into her corner. I briefly wonder about why she's in this carriage when I'm sure she usually stays with a group of Slytherin boys before I decide that I don't really care.

Finally, we arrive at Hogwarts. I maximise on my position as the one closest to the door and shoot out of the carriage as if I've been fired from a cannon into the cavernous Entrance Hall of the school. With nothing more than one brief glance around me to see whether Liv has made it - I don't see her anywhere, but I trust that she can find me at the table - I find a seat for myself and wait for everyone else to sit down.

"Thanks for abandoning me," she says breathlessly a few minutes later.

I shoot her a playful smile. "You're welcome."

The Welcome Back feast commences as normal. Once everyone has settled down, Professor McGonagall stands up to say a few words before the house elves send up all of the food. Feeling particularly ravenous, I eat my way through two reasonably sized chicken breasts along with roasted potatoes, generous scoops of mash and boiled vegetables. For dessert, I enjoy a slice of chocolate fudge cake along with Liv who professes her love for it once more.

As I eat, I think of my impending conversation with Freddie. Though he remains ignorant to it, it looms ahead, its presence pressing insistently at the back of my mind, even as I try to enjoy the feast. More than that, his bloody absence gnaws away at me. I never realised that I've never had a feast at Hogwarts without Freddie, James and Adelaide there. Purely to satisfy my curiosity, I scan the table for them - and then do a double take.

For quite possibly the first time since he stepped foot in Hogwarts, James Sirius Potter doesn't have his camera.

"Liv," I say, elbowing her while she's in the process of devouring a second slice. "Liv, James doesn't have his camera."

"Don't be ridiculous." She snorts. "James never goes anywhere without his - oh." Her eyes fall on the fifth year and her mouth drops open in shock. "Oh my God, he looks awful."

"Awful" is the perfect way to describe him at the moment. Complete with hair that's disheveled even for a Potter, prominent dark circles under tired, red eyes, a sickly pallor to his skin and a general look of defeat, he looks pretty shit. Shoulders hunched up, he picks at his food with the air of someone who has the weight of the world on his shoulders.

Because of this, the rest of the Weasley family are also unusually quiet. Their little pocket of the Gryffindor table carries a sombre air that those surrounding them are visibly unnerved by.

When McGonagall dismisses us and everyone rises to go to their common rooms, I quickly explain to Liv that I plan on cornering Freddie at this very moment and forge my way through the crowd to just outside the Great Hall where I can see everyone leaving. She ignores my instructions to go to bed and follows me, all signs of the nice, bubbly Liv gone. Instead, the Olivia Creevey that has the courage to take on a seventh year without wavering is in her place.

"You don't expect me to let you go alone, do you?" she says at a look from me.

"It's Freddie," I say. "He's not going to hurt me."

"I don't care." Her voice is firm. "I haven't been here for you like I should've so I'll be damned if I let you have this conversation alone." Before I can open my mouth to argue, she quickly whispers, "There he is! Come on."

Seeing no way around it, I choose to forgo reasoning with her and turn on my heel to find Freddie. He walks a little away from the crowd with James and Adelaide, hands in his pocket and a slightly strained smile on his face as if he's trying to pick up his cousin's spirits. It drops completely when I fall into his path.

"Excuse me," he says in a perfectly polite voice after a small beat of silence.

For a second, all I can do is stare at him - stare at him as the weight of my charm bracelet suddenly tugs on my wrist, heavy and incessant, a constant reminder that this is the boy who sent me them year after year without even breathing a word and this is the boy that kissed me and argued with me and actually hurt my feelings when he swore at me and -

"Actually, we need to talk," I say, clearing my throat.

Freddie closes his eyes with a soft sigh. "What I need to do is sleep."

Just like that, the strange feeling that has coursed through my veins ever since the 27th December dissipates into nothing and the familiar feeling of frustration and irritation wells up inside me.

Tilting my chin defiantly, I hiss, "Sleep later. Right now, what we need to do is _talk_."

At my tone, Longbottom snaps, "Now is not the time, Alyssa. We've had a rough holiday so your petty wishes can wait."

Irritation turns to anger. I open my mouth to deliver a scathing remark, but Liv beats me to it. Pushing me aside, she says, "For the love of God, Adelaide, I thought you weren't as selfish as that. Lyssa needs to talk to Freddie; I can testify to that. You're welcome to go to bed, but _he_-" Here, she jabs a finger in Freddie's direction. "-is not leaving without us."

_"Excuse me-"_

"For Merlin's sake, just let them talk to the bloke," James cuts across tiredly.

Longbottom falters in her retort and turns to exchange a look with Freddie. Slowly, he nods once, clearly not wanting to disagree with the already upset James. Without saying a word, he breaks away from the group and leads us to the first classroom he can find. I want to protest against the presence of his friends - there's no way in hell that they won't argue fervently against everything I say - but realise that it won't be very fair if I let Liv come along too.

When we enter a classroom, Freddie settles down on one of the desks facing the front, James and Adelaide on either side of him. Meanwhile, I press my lower back against the teacher's desk so I can face them properly, Liv to my left. It's as if battle lines have been drawn, the five of us two troops that are ready to attack when the cue comes. The room is silent and tense, the air stifling. Their eyes bore into me expectantly.

"Well?" Longbottom finally speaks.

Clearly my throat once again, I meet their gaze steadily. "I don't know whether Freddie has told you about our argument before the Christmas holidays. I assume not because none of you have tried to hex me yet."

"You assume right," she says cautiously.

"Because it's irrelevant," Freddie says sharply, more sharply than I've ever heard him speak before. He leans forward, eyes pressing into me as if urging me to keep quiet. There's a look on his face that's scarily unfamiliar: a mixture of concern and frustration, one that makes his dark eyes go wide with his plea. He's not scared or even _ashamed_, but he's - he's something. "Nothing to overreact over."

"It's not nothing," I say, my voice softer than I intend. I put as much power behind my next words to avoid sounding weak. "And I don't regret what I said. To put it short, I said that if Freddie could find it acceptable to kiss me when I don't want to be, there's no reason to say that - he couldn't do something worse."

It's strange what an impact words can have. Mine have Freddie flinch violently yet again, hurt unfurling onto his features. They have Adelaide and James freeze in shock, mouths slightly open, completely thrown off-guard. And they have Liv take a half-step so she stands partly in front of me.

For the second time that night, James finally speaks and his voice comes out as a croak. "What the _fuck_? How can you - what - do you even _know _Freddie?"

"James-"

"No, Freddie, I don't get why you're still trying to protect her even after what she's said, even while you're pissed off with her. You can't just - you can't just claim he's a fucking rapist!" He steps forward in his anger and then swears as Freddie's arm shoots out to stop him in his path. "Stop that!"

"You're not in the right mind," Freddie warns.

"I'm in a perfectly stable mindset," he snaps.

"She's the one who isn't," Adelaide angrily chimes in, gesturing toward me.

"Actually, she's right!" Liv hurls the words at her furiously. "It's a logical assumption, isn't it? If Freddie _can _do that sort of thing, then he must-"

"He's _Freddie _for Merlin's sake!"

"That doesn't excuse what he did!"

"It doesn't make him a ra-"

"Both of you _shut up!_" the person in question exclaims. When they do, he turns to me. His expression is once more frustrated, but there's still no anger there. Not accusingly, he says, "See? I knew this would happen if you told them. Why would you do that? It's - it's unnecessary trouble, Lyss."

"I don't care." I shrug.

"Well, start caring," Adelaide snaps. "You can't just go about life only caring for yourself and - and throwing - _horrible _accusations around."

"Everyone, just drop it!" Freddie says frustratedly. "Yeah, it's not the nicest thing to say to a bloke-"

"Are you actually fucking kidding me?" James exclaims. "Freddie, stop being so bloody stupid and just-"

"All of you shut up!" I cry. "All you guys do is shout about things you don't understand. Freddie might be a nice guy - in fact, I do know he's a nice guy, but that doesn't excuse anything." He looks distinctly uncomfortable at being talked about so I turn to address him properly. Taking a deep breath, I continue, "I didn't say it to be cruel, Freddie. I wanted to hurt you when I said it the first time, yes, but this time it's actually something you need to hear. You need to understand that you can't just kiss someone and not expect consequences and even though I don't _think _you have the potential to be a - well, be a rapist, you never _do _know. And, well, you can't do this to me. It completely violates my rights."

"I didn't mean to-"

"It doesn't matter. The point is that you _did _and did so on multiple accounts." Extracting a piece of paper out of my robes, I say, "According to the Metropolitan police, sexual assault is defined as intentionally touching another person sexually without consent. Do you know what that means, Freddie? It means that this includes rape, groping and _forced kissing_. Under these terms, what you are doing is - well, it's actually illegal. It's - sexual assault."

Silence.

For once, no one breathes a word. James and Adelaide look as if someone has taken a rounders' bat to the back of their heads and gape at me. If their jaws were any lower, they'd hit the ground. Meanwhile, Freddie looks completely floored now that it's been laid out for him in factual terms, rather than hurled at him as an insult, now that it's been legally defined by the authority. Even in the shadowy darkness of the room, the horror, disgust and hurt fight for dominance on the planes of his face. He swallows as if he's about to be sick.

In that moment, he looks far worse than James does.

"I-" He flounders, looking around desperately as if for some sort of escape from the truth. "I'm sorry, I can't - I can't do this."

He jumps up and turns tail.

* * *

**DISCLAIMERS: L.A's Downworld belongs to Cassie Clare. ****_America's Next Top Model _****and ****_Escape to the Country _****do not belong to me either. The dictionary definition of sexual assault isn't directly quoted by the police, but is a paraphrase of what I found on its website. I do not own Subway either, no matter how much I wish I did.**

**AUTHOR'S NOTE: So...bit of a heavy chapter, huh? Brace yourselves because it's going to be like this for the next few before things pick up again. Sorry if you wanted shits and giggles when Freddie returned, but he does have a lesson to learn and I hope you'll realise that now if you haven't already.**

**Reviews always make me happy. 3**


	12. Welcome to Reality

**12.**

Fairytales are lovely in theory, I suppose. There's always a happy ending where the main character rides off into the sunset with a brand new life, one that's full of love and joy and laughter. Suffering is glossed over and eventually disappears from existence. All is right in the world.

Reality is much harsher.

Because in reality, you don't forget about the pain so easily; the existence of one person doesn't eradicate it. In reality, you're not always the good guy and you're not always wanted around. In reality, your world can be turned upside down by the lack of one present or the recitation of one dictionary definition.

Reality hurts.

Get used to the pain.

/

He approaches me a day later when I'm on my way to Arithmancy, worn out and dirty from repotting Fanged Geraniums the lesson before. He's similarly disheveled with a huge streak of dirt on one cheekbone and a rather weary expression. He falls into step behind me before we pass Hagrid's hut where he's scheduled to be next.

"Alyssa," he says rather tentatively.

Stifling the urge to tell him to get lost since I'm running late for my next lesson, I spin around to face him, finding that he's much closer than I thought. He recoils, taking a huge step away from me as I tersely demand, "What?"

He bites down on his lip. "Er - I just - I want to just-"

I close my eyes in frustration. Now is not the time to have Freddie bloody Weasley stammer at me for God knows what reason. When I open them, I try to keep my voice level and say, "Freddie. I'm in a bit of a rush here so if you'd like to hurry up…" I trail off with an impatient gesture.

Strangely enough, he doesn't crack a smart comment at that sentiment. Instead, he adopts the same uneasy look he's taken to wear ever since I broke it to him how severe his actions are. Licking his lips, he starts again, "I just - I wanted to say that I'm sorry. I know I should've said this a long - a long time ago and it's long overdue, but - yeah. I'm...I'm sorry I put you through - all that."

I blink at him.

"Oh."

He watches me anxiously, waiting for another response, but I don't give one. Truth be told, I haven't had time to dwell much on Freddie's feelings in the past day - yes, I've definitely thought about him and the conversation and the damn charms - but for some reason, I never considered that he'd come up to me to apologise.

"Yeah." He lets out a shaky, breathless laugh and shoves his hands into the pockets of his robes. "You - you should probably get to Arithmancy now."

Nodding slowly, I turn on my heel and hurry toward my next lesson. I don't even stop to send Molly Weasley a suspicious look as she passes a dodgy-looking package to a Slytherin fifth year or take a breather. Just before Professor Holloway's limit for tardiness passes, I slide into my seat with a gasp for air. The Hufflepuff I've been placed next to, Hermione Sullivan, gives me a scandalised look at my appearance.

"Fanged Geraniums?" she asks, crinkling her nose in distaste.

"Yes," I reply shortly.

Hermione Sullivan has never been too fond of me. She finds everything I do offensive - once I realised this, I had great fun aggravating her on the days I was bored. Which, of course, made her despise me further.

"Ew."

In response, I flash her a sharp smile.

Arithmancy passes in a blur of number charts and references to _An Extensive Study of Arithmancy: O.W.L Standard_. Holloway launches into a lecture about the newest unit, one that encompasses half the lesson as a 'brief' summary of what the next couple of months will entail before she sets us to work. By the time the bell rings, I manage to get through half of the number chart and retreat to the dormitory with the satisfaction of knowing that Hermione Sullivan take longer to complete it for homework since she was so busy flirting with her housemate to do it in class.

Since lunch is merely an hour long, I keep my shower short and sweet and _scourgify _my robes before I slip back into them. Throwing my hair up into a messy bun, I descend the staircase with my wand between my teeth and bag slung over my shoulder and make a beeline for the Great Hall. I know that Liv's going to take longer in the shower since she had Care of Magical Creatures directly after Herbology so there's nothing to do except find a seat for myself and snag a slice of chocolate fudge cake for her. While I wait for her, I prop up my Ancient Runes textbook against a jug of pumpkin juice and absently munch on a tuna and sweetcorn sandwich. Ten minutes later, Liv collapses beside me with a loud thud.

"Hey," she says breathlessly.

"Hey," I answer, my eyes trained on the book.

She digs into the little bowl I shove towards her and shovels a spoonful of chocolate fudge into her mouth with relish. Swallowing the bite, she says, "You just had Arithmancy. Why are you working?"

"I could say the same thing about you going down to the dungeons all the time," I reply, "to brew potions and whatnot. I mean, you went yesterday even though we already _had_ Potions two hours before."

In the corner of my eyes, I notice the pink sheen her face takes on.

Hm.

"Potions is fun," she argues.

"So is Ancient Runes." When she makes a face, I continue, "Anyways, Brocklehurst told us that we have an assessment today and I want to get an O so…"

Liv sighs dramatically. "We haven't even been back a full week and they're already piling it on us. Christmas feels like it was a million years ago."

"Would you rather be tormented by the boys?" I say.

"Of course not," she says, "but that doesn't mean I appreciate the homework. If only we could all be Harry Goldstein."

"Unfortunately, we have brains unlike him," I exclaim, splaying my fingers across my forehead. She rolls her eyes in response. "You _could _follow his lead if you wanted to. Of course, then you'll never become a medicinal Potioneer."

Liv makes a mournful noise in the back of her throat that sounds similar to a dying whale. Expelling another sigh, she devours the rest of her dessert and helps herself to some mashed potatoes. "Speaking of which, the career leaflets should be coming out soon. Didn't Professor Longbottom say something about probably getting them by the end of next week in Herbology?"

"He did, yeah," I confirm. "Do you know when the one-on-one meetings are?"

"Not really, no," she says. "Dad told me that they happened around Easter in his time, but I've heard that they've moved forward since then to give us more time to consider our N.E.W.T options. I'll ask around, see what other people say," she adds.

Nodding, I return to the textbook.

In the end, it doesn't matter that I revised before the lesson. The first half of the Ancient Runes assessment is relatively easy with a few tricky translations thrown in there. The essay question, however, is the metaphorical wrecking ball to my Ancient Runes grade. It comes out of nowhere and sends what I once considered to be an impressive knowledge of Elder Futhark out of the window.

"I've failed," I say blankly.

Once I returned to the dormitory after a gruelling lesson of History of Magic and a practical assessment in Charms, I flopped down onto my bed and stared vacantly at the canopy of my four-poster. Ten minutes later, I'm still in the same position, only now Liv has joined me. She perches on the end of the bed and brushes her hair.

"What, in Charms?" She twists around to frown at me. "You did perfectly fine - better than me, in fact-"

"Not Charms," I cut across her. "_Ancient Runes_."

"For the hundredth time, I'm sure you're overreacting," she says soothingly. "Yeah, it was a surprise question, but as long as you've done the best you could, Brocklehurst can't mark you down too much."

"You don't know, Liv, you weren't there. It was _awful_."

"Well, a wise woman once told me that for the successes in life to really matter, you need to have some failures along the way too."

"Your mum's words of wisdom do nothing to soften the pain."

Liv laughs.

In response, I lift myself onto my elbows to send her a deadly glare and drop back into my state of pity. Usually, I'm not the type to wallow in my sadness; I'm the type to to go out there and bloody do something about it. But the past week or so has been so taxing. Between finding out that Freddie's the sender of the charms, having the Conversation (yes, with a capital C) with him, having him apologise to me and doing all these assessments to see whether we have retained our knowledge from before the holidays, I can't bring myself to see past my sure fail.

"That's it," I say. "I officially give up."

Liv tries to throw her brush onto her bed, misses and then lies down beside me with a cheery "no, you don't," as she, too, gazes up at the scarlet canopy of my bed. She cocks her head to the side and leans on my shoulder.

"I really do."

She repeats, "No, you don't. I heard Jessica Vane gave up yesterday when she had a panic attack in Defence Against the Dark Arts, but I know you haven't given up."

"And just who is that?"

"A Slytherin that's friends with Sarah Fancourt," she says.

I don't bother asking her why I'd care about a Slytherin who is tasteless enough to befriend Sarah Fancourt. Instead, I say, "That's irrelevant. The point is that I've given up."

"Not really. We both know that at nine o'clock you're going to go down to the common room and reread the last chapter of your textbook and read the next one. Then, you're going to do any of the homework you've been set. Then, you're going to continue to work as hard as you can. And in a week or so, the leaflets will come and you're going to decide which subjects you plan on taking and work even harder at those subjects. So no, you haven't given up, Lyssa. I know you better than that."

She's right, of course.

I don't admit that.

We remain like that for quite some time, chatting idly until Liv announces that she's off to the dungeons yet again. Not liking this in the slightest, I sit up to direct a frown her way. A look of innocence pastes itself to her face.

"Why do you keep going to the dungeons?" I demand. "You've been going quite a lot recently."

"This is only our second proper day back," she points out.

Waving away her comment, I say, "You did it before the holidays as well. Like 95% of the time that I was in the library or studying, you were in the dungeons."

I know this because her absences made the lack of Freddie's presence all the more obvious.

"Not really. It was closer to 40%."

"It was at least 80% of the time."

"If it had been 80% of the time, I would've been at a T in all of my lessons."

"Okay, so maybe it was 65 - 70%," I concede, "but that's not exactly an odd minute here and there."

"Because you can't make a potion in 'an odd minute here and there'." Liv laughs. Mimicking my actions, she rises and sweeps her hair off her face. "It just relaxes me. I think that with all of this stress, it's nice to have a break."

Disappointment threatens to spill onto my features, but I contain it. There's no use complaining if it actually helps her, no matter how ridiculous it sounds (I mean, how the hell does _Potions _calm someone's nerves?). _She _doesn't exactly stop _me _from relaxing.

Yes, I do relax occasionally.

Liv abandons her bag in the dormitory, only pausing to extract her textbook and press a kiss against my cheek to which I make a face. For a second, I am left alone with nothing but my thoughts. That is, until the door swings open and a burst of laughter accompanies Adelaide, Mirabelle Smith and Little Emma Evans entrance into the dormitory. There's a slightly awkward pause when the first meets my eyes before she slowly nods.

"Hello, Alyssa," she says politely.

Following her lead, the others mumble a reluctant "hullo, Chamberlain" and retreat behind the drapes of Mirabelle Smith's bed.

Strangely at a loss at what to do until after dinner, I cast my eyes around listlessly for a few moments like an idiot before I resign myself to the task of demolishing the rest of Mum's cupcakes and decide to write another letter to her along the way.

_Mum,  
_

_Two letters within two days? No, you're not dreaming and no, I'm not dying. I just thought that I'd write to you again because I know that I'm the light of your life and it'll help you sleep at night. Also, I'm a little bored.  
_

_The teachers are already piling on the work, unfortunately. Most classes have had an assessment by now "to ensure that students have retained information to an acceptable standard". I think I've done well on all of them, except the Ancient Runes one was pretty hard toward the end. Ask Grandma to pray for me.  
_

_How are things now that I'm not there anymore? I hope things are going well at work and home. Are all those toddlers tiring you out? Are you going to apply for that senior manager position that Uncle Damien mentioned the other day? Trust me, Mum, you can do it. I know you can.  
_

_Tell Grandpa that I'm sorry no one's around to play wizards' chess with him anymore, but I'm sure he'll persuade someone into a few rounds soon. If all else fails, he can challenge Grandma to a match. Now I would love to see that. Also inform Uncle Damien that if he hits you with another loaf of bread, he should keep an eye for any owls tapping on his window. I kid not. Pass on my love to Grandma.  
_

_Love,  
_

_Alyssa xo  
_

_P.S: I forgot to tell you that Liv said that the cupcakes on the train were absolutely divine.  
_

_P.P.S: Swear at Odysseus for me. Lovingly, of course (not really).  
_

The rest of the week passes with little incident. On Thursday night, I receive a frantic reply from Uncle Damien slotted in with Mum's letter that merely says _ALYSSA CHAMBERLAIN, DON'T YOU DARE_ in a hurried scrawl. Laughing, I put it to the side and focus on trying to beat Liv in a heated game of Gobstones.

At one point, McLaggen looks like he's about to wander over to Colin once again and revert back to his disgusting hobby of bullying twelve year olds, but seems to think better of it when Liv moves over to her brother, idly drawing her wand as she does so. The seventh year leaves the common room; the second years, particularly Ronnie Jorkins, all look at her adoringly.

"Going to the Goblin Wars section later on, are you?" I tease.

"Oh, be quiet," she says swiftly.

On Friday, Freddie Weasley isn't in lessons. James and Adelaide wander down to the Great Hall by themselves, the first looking more woebegone than ever, and place themselves within a crowd of Weasleys and the 'friendlier' people of Gryffindor. I only notice the third's absence because my eyes conveniently fall on the doors during their entrance.

I don't think much of it, too swept up in the fight to grab a piece of bacon from the nearest tray, but when the professor pauses at his name toward the end and sends James a questioning look when no one replies, my curiosity is piqued. Under the guise of reviewing the previous lesson's work by ourselves for the first five minutes, Liv and I eavesdrop on the hushed conversation behind us.

Professor Delacroix adopts a concerned tone when he asks, "James, I don't suppose you know where Freddie is?"

"Hospital Wing."

"Nothing too serious, I hope?"

"No, no." James clears his throat and, for the first time this week, a faint trace of amusement colours his next words. "He broke his arm flying and the mediwitch won't let him leave."

Professor Delacroix lets out a bark of laughter. "They're all the same, aren't they? I remember when Madame Pomfrey once threatened to chain me to the bed if I even thought about leaving." James makes a sympathetic sound that still manages to sound rather like he wants the conversation to be over and done with as quickly as possible. Delacroix doesn't seem to be aware of this, however. Abruptly taking on a sombre air, he says, "Listen, James…the teachers have noticed that you haven't been quite yourself lately. If anything's wrong, know that all of our doors are open for you no matter what - mine, Professor Longbottom's, Lavender's-"

"Nothing's wrong," he cuts across him roughly. "It's just - stress."

Unconvinced, the professor slowly says, "Well, whatever it is, we're here for you. We might seem like a bunch of old codgers, but we're known to help out now and again. And Lavender's trained to handle whatever comes her way."

"Right."

"Right."

Liv and I exchange a look as Delacroix returns to the front of the classroom. James' behaviour is...strange. Usually a charming boy, his rude demeanor is unexpected. As I consider this, Adelaide's words from the other day return to me:

_We've had a rough holiday._

Just what on earth happened to them to have them so depressed? And why has it affected James so badly? Chewing on my lip as I consider this, I stare off into the distance before I suddenly jerk back into the here and now. There's no use in contemplating matters that have no relevance to me. Who cares about James' change in character? Who cares about Freddie's broken arm? Though, to be fair, the injury must hurt quite a bit…

No.

I will not think about Freddie or his broken arm or crumpled face when he found out what he is or about his tentative voice when he apologised or those bloody charms.

I refuse.

Throughout the entire day, whenever I feel my thoughts straying in that direction, I repeat this firmly to myself. Because life is more than Freddie Weasley. For some reason, there's a part of me that just won't understand that.

By the time Ancient Runes comes around, he almost slips my mind entirely. I spare a brief thought for him when I notice his empty seat before translations and ancient transcripts demand my attention instead. For the entire lesson, I contently take notes on Brocklehurst's lecture, spirits high because my assessment was returned to me with an 'O' written in shining red ink in the right corner. It is only when I'm about to take leave that Brocklehurst beckons him to creep into my mind once more.

"Miss Chamberlain," she says, sitting down at her desk. "Please stay behind for a quick moment. I'd like to talk to you."

Frowning, I meander through the maze of tables to the impressive large mahogany feature at the very front of the classroom. Wondering whether I've committed any misdemeanors recently - the last time I had a detention was when I tried to make Sarah Fancourt's hair fall out, after all - I stand directly in front of her, hands wrapped around the strap of my schoolbag.

"Yes?"

Brocklehurst smiles faintly. "There's no need to look so worried, Alyssa. I only meant to ask you a couple of questions - well, one is a favour, really." When I raise an inquisitive eyebrow, she continues, "I'm afraid they surround your friends."

"Liv?" I ask in confusion.

Why on earth would Brocklehurst chase up Liv? She doesn't even _take _Ancient Runes.

"I meant Mr Potter and Mr Weasley," she says in amusement. I open my mouth to contradict her, but she cuts over me, "The three of you are often in the company of each other, are you not?"

The word "no" comes to my mouth instantly before I pause to consider it. Haven't I noticed a distinct lack of their presence in the past few weeks? If Freddie, James and Adelaide weren't around me so often, then it wouldn't have impacted me at all. Does that mean we've been 'friends' all along?

Oh, God.

No wonder people assumed that Freddie and I were a thing.

We actually spent a lot of time together.

Fuck.

"I - suppose so," I admit reluctantly.

"Then I don't suppose you know why the pair of them have looked so miserable ever since we returned?" she asks. "Neither of them have been particularly forthcoming. The same can be said for Miss Longbottom."

I shake my head. "I haven't been told anything. Although if I had - and I knew that they didn't want to broadcast the information - I wouldn't tell anyone. No offence, of course," I add hastily, remembering that I'm speaking to a teacher.

"None taken. Though, you are aware that if you know something, you may well be doing more harm than good."

"With all due respect, I don't think you're in a position to be the judge of that. If anyone is, it's Adelaide. I mean, she clearly knows and if she's not saying anything, then…" I trail off with a shrug.

Brocklehurst merely raises her eyebrows.

Finally, she seems to decide to let go of the subject because she picks up a sheaf of parchment and hands it to me. With one lone glance, I recognise the untidy scrawl instantly as Freddie's and a lump comes to my throat as I recall the neat print of the Self-Inking Quills that wished me a Merry Christmas each year except the last.

"Er, Professor? I already got back my essay-"

"I know that." She waves a hand dismissively. "But as we just confirmed, you happen to be in the presence of Mr Weasley a fair bit which is why I'd like you to hand it back to him. I'm sure he'll appreciate seeing his grade earlier than next week."

Great.

How wonderful.

Through gritted teeth, I say, "I'd love to."

Which is how I find myself not heading back to the common room as I should be, but taking a trek down to the bloody Hospital Wing because Brocklehurst can't be bothered to hunt Freddie down herself. Scowling to myself murderously, I stalk into the infirmary and to the only bed with a screen around it.

Freddie looks up at the sound of my footsteps as I turn around the corner. For a second, I drink him in - the curls of his dark hair, the glow of his rich skin, the stunned surprise printed on his features - before I shake myself out of it and firmly place myself at the foot of his bed. He instantly adjusts himself and draws his legs up to cross them underneath the covers.

"_Alyssa?_"

"Freddie," I mimic.

"W-What are - what are you _doing _here?" he asks in complete bewilderment.

Raising my chin slightly, I say, "Am I not allowed in the hospital wing or something?"

If anything, my response apparently confuses him further. With a furrow of his dark brows, he slowly answers, "Well...no - I mean, yeah, you are - but why are you here today? Visiting me, I mean?"

I regard him with a strange look. Since when has Freddie ever stammered around me? Come to think of it, since when has Freddie ever looked so lost and helpless? Ever since he ran away from the conversation on Monday, he's behaved in a manner so out of character for him. Uneasiness has clung to him like a second skin, steadily seeped out of every pore of his body and noticeably disturbed those around him.

"Am I not allowed to visit you?" I ask defensively, not quite sure why I'm not simply handing the essay over so I can be done with this.

"You never have before," he points out.

Recalling his previous three stints in the hospital wing and how I didn't care to check up on him then, I nod. "Yes, and?"

Freddie stares at me.

I stare back at him.

Finally, he speaks. Carefully avoiding my eyes, he keeps his eyes trained on the bed covers and traces the faint blue pattern emblazed on it with his index finger. "I don't understand. Why would you visit me after everything I've done?"

There it is.

A cue to pick up the conversation from Monday night from where we left it - to pretend like Freddie didn't run off, to finally talk about why he thought he could kiss me, to get an explanation as to why it's hitting him hard _now _when surely he must've been aware that his actions were wrong. Possibly to bring up the charms on my wrist - charms that I'm currently clutching, I realise in annoyance - and our argument from weeks ago where I snapped over an offer for a little help - an irrational reaction, now that I think about it - and how it hurt when he swore and how it hurt when I first accused him.

This is the opportunity to clear the air.

But then I realise one very important thing: _I'm not ready_.

Not ready to find out why Freddie believed that he could get away with kissing me, why someone everyone reveres could behave in such a manner, why he looks so lost and ashamed and bloody broken, why he thinks he _can _be like that. Not ready to know what possessed him to send me that very first charm, why he sent three more after that little wand without so much as a thank you from me, how he knows me so bloody well if those presents indicate anything and why it hurt when he called me a bitch during a heated argument when _so many people_ have thrown the insult at me and it hasn't even stung.

"Don't get ahead of yourself, Freddie," I say. "I'm only here because Brocklehurst wanted me to hand you your essay."

He blinks.

"Oh."

He carefully accepts the parchment I hand over to him. His mouth curls into a small smile at the sight of his grade and he folds his essay into a neat square that he tucks into the pocket of his robes. When it's stowed away, he meets my eyes once more.

"I guess you'll be going now," he suggests.

Taking the cue, I nod and rise, smoothing out the front of my robes and brushing back the stray strands of my hair. Not knowing what to do with my hands, I curl them around the strap of my bag.

"Is this the part where I tell you to get well soon?"

An uncomfortable shrug of his shoulders. "If you want."

"Right."

For some reason, I don't make any indication to move. Instead, I stand there like an idiot and stare at him blankly while he sits there like an even bigger imbecile and avoids my gaze. I consider demanding that he tells me whatever's wrong with him and James so I can get the teachers off my back. I consider telling him to snap out of it, to stop acting so unlike him because it's bloody unnerving. My mouth opens to voice some of my thoughts just as a new set of footsteps interrupt us.

Freddie's head snaps up to look up at the clock on the wall. When he sees that it's five o'clock, his face loses all colour.

"Lyss, you might want to-"

It's too late. Before he can finish his sentence, the newcomer comes around the corner of the screen. Dark eyes peer out of a scarred face, the deep grooves harsh in the bright light of the Hospital Wing. A hat sits on dark cornrows and has clearly been positioned to add a shadow to her face, hide the battle scars, but it does little to help.

"Oh," the woman says in surprise.

I turn bright red. Not because I'm embarrassed, but because I can't think of anything other way to react around her. There's no doubt as to who this woman is - she's already notorious in the corridors of Hogwarts.

Lavender Brown is a name that makes Hogwarts students think of a little room near the North Tower with a lilac sign that proclaims 'STUDENT COUNSELOR' in an elegant script; of a woman listed in our History books as one of the surviving members of the DA, of the Battle of Hogwarts and of the rampage of a werewolf named Greyback. It's a name heavily linked with deep battle scars on a dark face and a woman who was once so ashamed of them that she took to hiding behind masquerade masks until she finally tore them off, head held high.

Of course, in a castle full of judgemental teenagers, it's a name that we associate with the weirdos of the school. The 'unstable' ones. The ones that need help.

"I wasn't aware Freddie had any visitors," she says softly.

"I was just dropping off his essay. I - er - I was just about to leave."

Lavender smiles. "You can come back later if you like. Usually, I have my meetings in my room, but since Freddie's in the hospital, I came out of my hole for once." She lets out a little giggle. "But we won't take too long. Half an hour to an hour, maybe. So if you'd like to come back at six-"

"Oh, no," I say with a shake of my head. "I really should get going."

With those words, I turn and hurry out of the infirmary. The image of a softly-spoken, scarred counselor and a red-faced, uncomfortable Freddie Weasley stay with me all the way to the common room. With it is a single question that burns in my mind.

Since when the hell has Freddie needed help?

* * *

**AUTHOR'S NOTE: Hello, dear readers and Happy New Year! I guess this chapter can be my New Year's kiss to you...not exactly an joyful one, but at least it's here, right? Speaking of not being joyful, have you guys heard of this little thing called teenage angst? Well, either way, you're in for a treat because the next few chapters are full of ****_tons _****of it. With a plot like this, it's inevitable.**

**In other news, I've started a small novella called ****_Dormitory 2.6a _****on my account on HPFF. It's a Next Gen fic featuring six badass OCs from the lovely house of Hufflepuff, lots of sass and the occasional Albus Potter. It's a lot lighter than this and has quite the banter if I do say so myself. Check it out if you can.**

**This chapter is dedicated to Sama/navyfail/~chocolate (from HPFF) for nominating me for the Claw of the Month! If you're not keeping up with her fic ****_Crossing the Borderlines, _****you should be! ;)**

**(also, I don't know if this is just a thing in my area, but 'needing help' does not mean accepting assistance in this situation. It means needing therapy.)**

**(also, what did you think of the chapter? Let me know in the box below!)**


	13. Chinese Whispers

**DISCLAIMER: The phrase "lost boy" was deliberately lifted from _Peter Pan_ by J.M Barrie as an attempt to stick with the weak fairytale theme I've (sort of) had.**

**AUTHOR'S NOTE: So sorry that this is late. The update was delayed for a few reasons: one) I like to keep ahead of my updates in what chapters I've actually written and I have been experiencing writers' block and getting distracted by plunnies/writing challenges on HPFF two) real life has been very distracting as well - mocks, family issues and *ahem* catching up on my tv shows and three) flames.**

**Basically, I woke up about a month ago and checked my email to see that I had gotten flames from a couple of Guests. It was bound to happen eventually, but it still came as a shock - I got over it by the end of the day - but the utter _bullshit_ in the reviews aggravated me. They complained about how Alyssa was a bitch, how the fic was dramatic, how there was no romance 12 chapters in and how KMLASTD is an unrealistic story. One of them asked if Alyssa was based on myself and told me to "please learn how to write better stories". **

**Okay. **

**I posted a lengthy reply on my tumblr, but here's the gist of it: Alyssa is _supposed_ to be a bitch. She's supposed to be negative and supposed to be unlikeable. It's the _point._ She's being wronged and few people sympathise with her because she's _not nice._ Does that make it right? Of course not. She's going to grow as a character, obviously, but it's going to take time. Just like how the romance is going to take time. This violation of her rights isn't going to be easily forgotten so please bear with it. And yes, it's dramatic. I added a variation of my NOTE OF WEIGHT on HPFF at the beginning of CH1 explaining this, but I'll say it here too. I am going to be covering sensitive issues in the way I _know_ teenagers do. Certain things will be brushed over, other things will be made a huge deal out of when they're not that important. They're fifteen years old. Drama is going to be everywhere in this fic.  
**

**Don't like? Don't read.**

**That's not to say that the rest of you aren't lovely, by the way. The same day I read the flames, I actually got a review saying that this was one of the best fics the Guest has read. A lot of you say similar things so _thank you so much. _You guys are what keep me going. I'm so sorry for being super unreliable with updates - but on the plus side, the next chapter should come in like a week or so because it's basically a really long extension of this chapter i.e. the conversation between Freddie and Alyssa ;)**

_**And my story is not unrealistic, by the way.**_

* * *

**13.**

The image of Freddie Weasley and Lavender Brown weighs heavily in my mind over the weekend. I can't comprehend why she'd visit him at the hospital wing and why he willingly attends sessions with her, especially since he's so embarrassed to be caught in the act. As admirable as her actions are, Lavender's reputation and position means that only the most desperate of people retreat to her office and turn to her for help. No one wants to admit that their problems are so serious that they can't handle it themselves. It's a matter of pride.

At Hogwarts, pride is _everything._

Which is why I don't understand why he risks it all. Just what weight is on his shoulders that he needs help to bear? He's _Freddie Weasley. _He lives a bloody perfect life and everyone knows it. That's why everyone loves him: they want to be him. Whenever most people glance at him or James, their looks aren't simply full of adoration, but also contain deep and bitter envy. It's pretty ridiculous, though that doesn't stop any of them. In the end, Freddie's everything they want to be.

He's a Golden Boy.

He's not a broken toy for Lavender to nurture, to hold in the palms of her hands and shield from the world as she gently repairs him, hides away the cracks in his perfection and glosses him over to rid the wear and tear. He's not a wounded unicorn, oh so innocent and pure, oh so devastatingly heart-wrenching. He's not damaged.

_So why was she there?_

It worries away at my mind, pushing and pushing with this incessant craving for an answer. Whenever my eyes fall on him in the common room and he avoids my studious look, it's there, a presence that can't be ignored. It's curious and fucking infuriatingly so.

I don't mention anything to Liv about it. To mention something as serious as meeting with Lavender Brown probably isn't in my place to do which is why I keep quiet and deflect all the questions about why I'm so subdued this weekend. Instead, I try to consume myself within other activities like games of Gobstones or building snowmen or wandering around the castle. I listen to Liv as she speculates with the girls from the other dormitory about why James is so depressed lately and help her disperse the stupid rumours. When all else fails, I tackle the homework the professors have been so lovingly assigned.

Monday dawns and I roll out of bed at seven o'clock to take a quick, scorching shower. As I exit the bathroom, Little Emma Evans snags one of the other cubicles and Adelaide kindly wakes up Mirabelle Smith, shaking her up with an amused laugh when she's batted away. She catches my eye and it falters for a second before it's back in full force.

Shivering and clad in nothing but a fluffy white towel, I take on the responsibility of forcing Liv up.

"Oi. Wake up." I prod her with a wrinkled finger and then grab onto her shoulder. Jostling her, I say, "Liv. Liv. _Liv. _SLEEPING BEAUTY, DO YOU MIND GETTING YOUR BUTT OUT OF BED?"

In response, she whines sleepily and swats at me like I'm nothing but an irritating fly. Cracking open her eyes, she moans, "It's too _cold_ to wake up."

"Really. I don't know how on _earth _you came to that conclusion; we're only in the north of Scotland."

Already barely open, her eyes fall into slits. Unamused, she says, "Your sarcasm isn't needed." And then, after glancing over me critically, she adds, "Put some clothes on. Stop trying to seduce me out of bed."

Rolling my eyes, I back away from her. "Wouldn't it be smarter to seduce you _into _bed?"

"I never said you were smart."

"Funny."

While Liv rolls around in bed and procrastinates, I slip into a black thermal top, thermal tights and my school robes. With a quick wave of my wand, I dry my hair, smother it in mousse to ease the frizz and then promptly shove it up into a pile on top of my head to get it out of the way. The rest of my time is spent moisturising my face, applying Vaseline to my lips and sorting through my bag to make sure that everything I need is there.

"What do we have today?" Liv asks. She's finally gotten out of bed and brushed her teeth. As she speaks, she approaches one of the mirrors with her makeup kit.

Extracting my timetable, I say, "History of Magic first. Then, double Defence and Transfig. I have Arithmancy for fifth period; you have Care of Magical Creatures. Then, it's Potions and Herbology."

Not a fabulous day in store for us. History of Magic is never a fine way to start off the day, though Defence Against the Dark Arts and Transfig are fine. Arithmancy would be better if it wasn't for Hermione Sullivan. Potions and I don't exactly see eye to eye and while Herbology is an alright subject, it's quite the trek to get to the greenhouses from the dungeons and takes a good chunk out of the final break.

"It's okay," Liv disagrees as she sweeps a brush across her face. "It's only first period that'll be bad."

"Speak for yourself," I mutter.

Once Liv is satisfied with her makeup ("I know you don't know anything about makeup, Lyssa, but is my eyeliner dodgy or anything?"), she throws on her robes, slings on her bag and we head down to the Great Hall together.

Most people have that bedraggled, defeated look practically synonymous with early morning starts as they trudge down with us and a quiet murmur is in place of the usual cacophony that fills the area. We pass through the double doors at the same time as a large group of Slytherins from my year; Sarah Fancourt's eyes clash with mine and then narrow into thin slits as her lips lift into a sneer. She promptly tosses her hair back, twists away from us and leads them to the other side of the Great Hall.

Turning back to Liv, I catch the sunny smile she sends to some of the stragglers.

"Friendly with Slytherins?" I say. "Your dad won't be too happy about that."

She rolls her eyes and nudges me along. "I don't think he'd care much, actually. Everyone knows that house unity is promoted nowadays."

"Old habits die hard, though."

Liv chooses seats in a relatively empty area of the Gryffindor table - near enough to some of the other students to still be social, far enough to have some privacy and personal space (a concept some of them fail to understand) - and instantly loads her plate with an English breakfast. Mimicking her, I snag some of the bacon before it's devoured, slide a couple of fried eggs onto my plate, add a generous spoonful of baked beans, a slice of toast and a hashbrown or two: a filling breakfast to prepare me for the day ahead. We settle into an easy conversation about her dad and whether (or why, in Liv's case) he really won't care if she talks to Slytherins as we eat our fill.

Five minutes later, James slides into the seat next to her and promptly drops his head into his arms. We break off in slight confusion. Ever since the Conversation last week, Liv and I have carefully avoided James, Adelaide and Freddie - well, barring that one incident in the infirmary - in order to reduce the tension.

I raise my eyebrows at her.

Widening her eyes, she settles for a lost shrug in response.

When he shows no sign of moving, I say, "Are you lost or something?"

Clearly, Liv thinks this violates our unspoken agreement to avoid confrontation because she swiftly kicks my shin. I scowl.

James lifts his head and shakes it. "This is the Gryffindor table, right? Then, of course not." His casual, sarcastic reply is somewhat undermined by his awful appearance. He looks like a rotting corpse to put it succinctly. "Pass me the toast, please."

When I don't move, Liv reluctantly passes the platter to him. Murmuring his gratitude, he grabs more than a handful and then pours himself some tea. "Do either of you want some?" he asks, gesturing to the teapot in his hand.

"Not really," I say.

"Your loss." He shrugs.

Under our watchful gazes, he picks apart one of the pieces of toast with the manner of someone with all the time in the world. He pops each morsel into his mouth and then breaks out into quite possibly his first smile in days, one that contains the faintest traces of a bite.

"Is watching me eat breakfast that interesting?"

A breathless laugh escapes Liv's lips, tinged with a nervousness that irritates me. There's no need for her to be nervous, no need for her to view him as a threat. The fact that she does instantly causes hostility to spread through me. An unamused expression takes host of my features.

"Of course," I say. "Why, it's my only purpose in life: to fawn over everything you do."

James drops the smile within seconds. His toast follows a similar fate and lands against its brothers with a noiseless thud. Leaning forward, he takes a deep breath as if to calm himself.

"I see you're angry with me," he states.

"I'm not angry," I say. "I'm just not sure why you're here."

Hesitation flickers in his tired, hazel eyes. Almost unwillingly, they swivel around to glance further down the hall and I follow his gaze, already knowing who it's drawn to. In the midst of the most densely populated area of the Gryffindor table is the Weasley family and their close associates - and every single one of them stares our way, except for one. Only Freddie keeps his head down and actually eats. As I watch, he surreptitiously elbows Adelaide to look away; the indecipherable expression on her face disappears as she turns her head.

By the time I turn to face James once again, he has already made up his mind. With nothing more than a brief glance in Liv's direction, he leans forward further and lowers his voice.

"Look. I'm gonna assume that you've already told Liv about it-"

"Told Liv about what?" she interrupts.

Half-amused, half-annoyed, he says, "Well, if you let me speak, you might find out what I'm on about."

She flushes a guilty red. "Oops…"

He rolls his eyes. In the next second, he assumes a serious demeanour once more. "It's about the Hospital Wing."

An image of a kind, scarred face rises in the back of my mind along with dark cornrows and an inviting smile. Quicker than a flash, it's replaced by Freddie's face - first, drained of all colour as he registers the time, then beet red in embarrassment - before I recall our awkward conversation. At the memory of my odd behaviour, I flush a reluctant pink.

Liv watches this in fascination. Mystified, she turns to James. "What happened in the Hospital Wing?"

"I'm guessing that means she didn't tell you about it, then."

"If I admit that she didn't, will it stop you from letting me in on what happened?"

"Probably not since Alyssa's going to tell you anyways."

"Then, no, she didn't," she says with a cheeky smile.

"That's good," he says, addressing me now. "Because - we don't need rumours to spread around, okay? With a surname like his, people are bound to talk and by 'talk', I mean 'write home about it' and before you know it, the whole bloody wizarding world knows about it, _Witch Weekly _try to publish something about it, despite the fact that we're not of age and then Aunt Angie threatens to murder the editor."

"I wasn't exactly going to scream it from the Astronomy tower," I say scathingly, trying to negate the impression my heated cheeks give with my tone.

"Well, considering the situation we have on our hands, you have more than ample reason to do that," he says evenly. "I'm just trying to convince you not to."

"I've put up with Freddie's antics for four years," I remind him, "and not once did I spread his deepest and darkest secrets to someone like Mirabelle Smith or Sarah Fancourt. I'm not going to do it now."

James settles back, looking convinced, but dissatisfied. Finally, he concedes, "Okay. I believe you." He rises from his seat, using one hand to hold his plate, using the other to hover the cup of tea in the air with his wand. Before he joins the rest of the Weasleys (who continue to exemplify wonderful social skills and stare us out), he smiles for the second time today, this time with an awkward, apologetic note. "And Alyssa? I really am sorry I swore at you. And didn't realise the - er - magnitude of Freddie's actions. It was - it wasn't right and I'm sorry."

For a long second, I don't say anything. Finally, sick and tired of his careful eyes and everything Freddie-related, I say, "It's okay."

With those words as his cue, he drops his feeble smile in favour of a blank expression, one that is fast becoming his trademark, and joins the rest of his family, leaving me alone with a curious Liv and a whole lot of explaining to do.

* * *

I don't tell Liv that Freddie sees Lavender Brown until History of Magic - everyone knows that trying to whisper a secret in the Great Hall is the best way to ensure that it doesn't stay a secret at all and I noticed the nearby fourth years straining their ears to pick up bits of our conversation. Sure enough, by the time that the final break comes to an end, the most absurd rumours have leaked out.

"Alyssa Chamberlain - _her, _right there - no, you cretin, the short one with the really curly, lopsided hair - you know, the one that was with Freddie Weasley? I heard they're back together. She visited him in the Hospital Wing last week and all."

"I heard they - _you know_."

"Right there in the infirmary! They're lucky Madame Pomfrey didn't catch them!"

"Bloody hell, Weasley's an absolute _legend_."

"Really? She - she actually - showed her _unmentionables?"_

Whispers follow me all the way to and from the greenhouses. I pass several people who openly stare at me while others avoid my gaze as if I'll turn them to stone if I catch their eyes. In addition to the stupefied students, there are the girls that scowl murderously when they notice me - if looks could kill, my throat would be slit - and lo and behold, Sarah Fancourt is one of them. And when there's not furious fangirls or gawking idiots, there's Albus Potter, who passes me with an infuriatingly smug smirk, even though he almost certainly knows that all of the rumours are lies.

Of course, I don't let it be shown that any of the rumours have gotten to me. Ever since I stepped foot in this school, people have talked about me and they probably will do so for the rest of my time here. It's nothing more than a fact of life albeit a rather pathetic one.

The evening passes in a haze. I determinedly ignore the pointed fingers and murmurs, indulge Liv for once and let her experiment with my nails and avoid the curious half-glances of the Weasleys.

Just before everyone heads down for dinner, Terrence McLaggen's ego makes a reappearance and returns with a bang when he nonchalantly causes Colin's ink pellet to explode - Liv launches into an attack, Colin tries to hold her back and McLaggen is forced upstairs by one of the seventh year prefects.

James passes on an apology for the rumours, acknowledging that approaching me at breakfast is what triggered them, Adelaide continues to scrutinise me with that odd look on her face and Freddie remains red-faced in embarrassment and avoids looking my way at all costs.

Twenty four hours after James dropped down beside us at breakfast, the rumour speeds along with vigour. There are still sideways glances and nudges when my presence is noticed, but I content myself with the knowledge that the mill is _slowly _losing its steam. Within a couple of weeks, it will fade into the background and join the rest of the stories, be nothing more than a scandal that people will bring up when they're bored or fawning over Freddie.

Of course, it helps that I'm sure to look unfazed as I munch on my cereal as if I'm above such rumours. To be honest, I suppose I _am _above it, though the fact that my virginity is supposedly debatable isn't welcome.

_Idiots._

Even if I did lose my sanity enough to sleep with Freddie, I won't do it in the bloody Hospital Wing. Please. I have _some _class.

"People can be so annoying sometimes." Liv frowns at a nearby gaggle of third year Hufflepuffs that giggle and point my way. "They'll believe anything."

"Welcome to my world," I say.

She grimaces in response, but chooses not to comment and busies herself on the act of pouring herself a cup of tea. Once she's taken a long sip of it, she says, "I'm doing my best to make the rumours die down." When I make an noncommittal noise, she continues, "I've spoken to different people in all houses to see if we can make them see sense."

"Oh, yeah? Who?"

She ticks them off on her fingers. "Isabella Thicknesse and her friends; Taryn Westwood-"

"Who?"

"She's a Chaser for Ravenclaw," she says, "and currently the person who's been on the team longest. Pretty popular, quite nice and we get along fairly well too so she's agreed to let people know that nothing scandalous happened at the infirmary if she overhears conversation about it."

"Fair enough."

"Cecilia Finch-Fletchley agreed to set people straight as well. In Gryffindor, well, we have _us _and there's the rest of the Weasley clan. I think James and Freddie have told Rose Weasley to spread the truth in Ravenclaw as well-"

"It's not going to work, though," I interject in a matter of fact tone. "People want to be convinced that I'm a slut."

"Well, you're not." She snaps the words in a manner completely unlike her. "So people can _piss off."_

I blink in surprise. "Woah, Liv. It's okay, I don't care what people say about me."

"That doesn't make it right. In fact, it makes it worse because they take that to mean that it's true and spread even more rumours about you, none of which are _true. _It's so bloody frustrating."

Pausing in the act of lifting a spoonful of cereal to my mouth, I set it down and place a hand on her shoulder. She sweeps her hair off said shoulder and gathers some strands in her fingers to twist, staring hard at her plate as she waits for me to speak.

"What's wrong?" is all I say, but it's all she needs.

As if a dam has broken open, her words the water, her frustration the drive behind the inundation, she allows the torrent of confession to crash over me without a moment's hesitation.

"Ugh, I just - I'm so annoyed by all of this. It's as if you can't get a break from this and whether or not you're talking to Freddie, everyone has something to say about you. When you ignore him, you've had sex; when you visited him in the infirmary, you've had sex and it's so aggravating to hear it all because most of these people don't even know you and they feel entitled to casually spread rumours and I just feel so bad because I haven't been doing what I should've done all this time - sure, I told people the truth and made them stop talking about you, but I never put my all in it, not like you would and I'm such a horrible friend and I feel so pathetic and cranky because my period's going to start in a couple of days and that's no reason to feel like this since every girl suffers from periods and boys use it as an excuse for our bad moods and I don't really like that, but I can't _help it_-"

"For the love of _God, _Liv, _breathe_."

Red stains her cheeks. "Sorry about that," she murmurs embarrassedly. "I think I'm going to brew more Draught of Peace."

Making a face, I say, "Why willing spend time in the dungeons?"

A faint smile flickers across her face and she proceeds to list all the reasons why the dungeons aren't an unpleasant place to be and how I'm just biased because I loathe Potions and how that colours my perception of it incorrectly. I let her ramble on so she takes her mind off the heavy weight of guilt, not caring one bit about the aesthetic appeal of the lower levels, only concerned with the return of her sunny smile.

Defence Against the Dark Arts wipes all thoughts of rooms with auras of mysticism out of our minds and replaces them with an intensive study of Lethifolds. Ancient runes bleed into it, accompanied by further musings about Freddie when my eyes fall onto his figure on the other side of the room, and then is swiftly chased out by the hefty load of homework Brocklehurst mercilessly dumps onto our desks.

All in all, the day passes in a similar manner to yesterday when the whispers began. Murmurs and accusatory fingers follow me like moths to a flame, often attached to smug smirks and eyes that watch me like a hawk. Some of the brainless idiots - you know, the guys that come from a similar calibre to McLaggen - applaud Freddie whenever he passes them while a few of their suicidal classmates holler appreciatively at me. A sixth year even sneaks his hand out and dares to pat my arse when I walk past.

Needless to say, he _probably _won't be able to have kids of his own in the future.

The teachers remain impervious to the rumours and treat me exactly the same as before. Years of gossiping teenagers and scandalous lies have prepared them to deal with this accordingly (which is probably why Chang turns a blind eye when I knee'd the sixth year), a fact that I am grateful for by the end of the day. Because as much as I am deaf to the _flattering _talk, I have to admit that never has it been on this scale. This isn't helped by the fact that day ends with Potions.

"Remember to be extra careful on the last step," Chambers warns us all as the lesson inches to a close. "That's the most important one."

"Why don't you do it, then?" I mutter murderously under my breath.

The Hufflepuffs in the row in front turn around to give me outraged looks. My answering smile is as venomous as a viper.

"I'll do it," Liv says tiredly, gesturing for me to move over. Gladly, I step back to watch her from a safe distance. As she works, she notes, "You've added too much nettle."

"Does it make it poisonous?" I ask.

"No," she says, "but it might counteract the antibacterial properties of the potion."

"Shame," I say dryly. "I could do with some poison today."

She lifts her head to send me a sad smile. At the sight of it, I remember that the day hasn't been too easy on her either: she's spent a good 80% of it telling people to fuck off on my behalf. Needless to say, most people are avoiding her today. No one's quite sure what to do with an irate Liv Creevey.

By the time the lesson ends, she salvages my potion with minimal damage to any of the nearby students, pours a sample into a vial and hands it to me to place at the front alongside hers for Chambers to assess. When I return, the desk is spotless and she's swept up in a daydream, eyes trained toward the other end of the classroom. Abruptly, she turns to me.

"Do you want to do anything after we shower?" she asks. "We could make a trip to the kitchens and get some cookie dough and ice cream? Have a nice night to ourselves."

"Are you asking me out on a date, Miss Creevey?" I smirk.

"But of course," she says demurely. "You are the only one for me, Alyssa Chamberlain, and I'll do everything in my power to seduce you to swing my way."

"I'm all yours," I declare, causing her to let out a clear, amused laugh. "Unfortunately, I have a lot of homework to do for Ancient Runes tomorrow so I'm going to have to postpone our date. We can do it after dinner? Skip out on dessert and hop down to the kitchens instead?"

"Deal," she agrees. Releasing a relieved breath, she adds, "I really do need to stock up on some Draught of Peace so I think I'll do that now. I gave some of my previous batch out before and then ended up selling most of it to Molly Weasley-"

"You work with _Molly Weasley_?"

"Of course not. She saw me giving some to Colin after _McLaggen_-" The name is uttered in the utmost disgust. "-bullied him that last time before the holidays and bought the rest of it off for me a good price. Now I need to replenish my stock because I have a feeling all of this tension is going to get worse - and quickly at that."

"Just be careful. You don't want to become an addict." I might not be a Master Potioneer, but I do damn well on the theory.

"Don't worry about it," she says airily. "I know about all of the risks."

The school day draws to a close; I celebrate this fact with a long, hot shower to scrub away the dirt from Herbology and from Potions and the lies that hound me. When I exit the bathroom in a fluffy towel and an aura of contentment, I enter a dormitory full of the Gryffindor girls of my year barring Liv. Occasionally, Mirabelle Smith and/or Little Emma Evans invite them all around and they have a nice long session doing whatever gaggles of girls tend to do - gossip, bitch, talk about boys. Sometimes, Liv joins them while I retreat to the common room where Freddie and James bug me.

Remembering Brocklehurst's words about how Freddie and James often stay - or _stayed_ \- with me, I briefly wonder whether that was friendship.

At the sight of me, they fall silent. Finally, Adelaide bravely ventures, "Hey, Alyssa."

"Hi," I reply somewhat cautiously.

An awkward pause follows before she says, "Had a nice shower?"

"Yeah."

"Well...that's good."

"Right."

With that painful exchange over, I saunter over to my trunk, grab the first few clothes I see and then return to the bathroom to change. Before the door fully shuts behind me, I swear I hear someone whisper the words "Hospital Wing" and nearly slam the door open again to confront them before I decide against it. Though I desperately wish to, giving in now makes me feel sick after I managed to endure all of the rest of the ridiculousness today - but if someone dares to say _anything _tomorrow, I will come down on them faster than Zeus' lightning bolt.

I slide into a thick dress and throw on a stylish, knitted poncho over it for extra warmth. With the addition of thermal tights and a pair of boots, I'm free to go. I walk out of the bathroom and to my bed with my head held high, brushing off the giggles of the eight girls piled on top of Mirabelle Smith's bed. As I gather my Ancient Runes notes and textbook, however, I deduce that they're not talking about me anymore - probably because of Adelaide and her close friendship with the other target of the rumour - and seem to be swapping amusing secrets.

I close the door on someone questioning amidst snorts of laughter, "But how are you scared of oranges, though?"

"I just am!" Little Emma Evans cries indignantly. "Don't laugh - it's not natural how they're the same colour as their name and how they're so _round _all the time-"

With that final statement to play in my mind, I descend the staircase and pass through the common room without nothing more than a cursory glance around. Gryffindor tower exudes an aura of relaxation and ease with an occasional heated argument that explodes out of nowhere and ends just as quickly. Loud chatter fills the air, the boisterous laughter and general banter characteristic of the house easing into the background as a warm buzz. When the portrait of the Fat Lady closes on it, the absence of raw sound is tangible.

Adjusting my bag on my shoulder, I head down toward the library, intent on getting this monster of an assignment out of the way before dinner - God knows what possessed Brocklehurst to expect it in tomorrow - which is why I don't waste time with a scenic route and make a beeline for the nearest shortcut.

Footsteps sound behind me, gentle against the cold floor, but I take no heed of it for the moment. It's not until the tapestry I duck behind is pulled back and I'm suddenly spun around that I regret this a tiny bit. Mostly because Adelaide Longbottom's hand is wrapped around my lower arm.

"Hi," she says in a rather breathless, timid manner. "Can we talk?"

Not particularly wanting to, I ask, "Is it urgent? Because I have a lot of work to do and need to get to the library so…"

"Yes, it's urgent," she quickly says. Further tightening her grip on my arm, she continues, "I've been meaning to talk to you for a few days now about - well, about Freddie."

I close my eyes in frustration. Wherever I go, the name '_Freddie Weasley' _follows me. I wake up, it's there. I go to breakfast, it's there. I sit down in class, it's there. I bloody _breathe _and it's there. A perpetual presence, nagging at me, worrying away at the back of my mind as if to constantly remind me that he exists and is a prominent figure in my life, no matter what I say or do.

"I don't care."

Instead of getting angry like she did the other day, desperation is what fills her at my words. Fingers digging into my arm so harshly there'll definitely be bruises left behind, she pleads with wide, shining eyes, "But you _have _to be, Alyssa. Please, I'm begging you. I can't - I can't _do _this anymore. First James, now Freddie - both of them are like my brothers and both of them have had their hearts broken in the past few weeks and _I can't do this on my own_. You're the only one that can help me. _Please._"

Mystified, I say, "What on earth are you talking about? Broken hearts? Helping you? Help you do _what?"_

"Help me get them out of the state they're in!"

"They have no less than a dozen cousins to help you do that," I point out. Removing my arm from her grip with more than a little effort, I add, "I can't help you. I don't know why you're under the delusion that I can, but-"

"It's not a delusion. Look, both of them are in really bad places. Maybe we can try to help James out more so than Freddie in some ways, but Freddie's _not listening_. We can't understand what he's going through with everything that's happened: Lavender Brown, the whole assault thing, the rumours-"

"How is _he _affected negatively by the rumours?" I demand. "_I'm _the one that's being ostracised for that bullshit! I'm the one that guys think they can suddenly flirt with, that people think was so eager to get into bed with Freddie that I jumped him in the bloody Hospital Wing. Where people are calling me a slut, they're _congratulating _him. I'm the goddamn female here, not him."

Suddenly, it's as if the roles have reversed. Where Adelaide was manic and I was calm and immovable, she is now completely composed while I work myself up into a fit, seething when I promised myself I wouldn't, grasping at straws, trying to ignore the bloody elephant in the room - because I'm still not bloody ready to talk to Freddie and everyone keeps pushing me to do so. I don't _want _to find out the reasons behind anything.

Calmly, she says, "I know that. It's disgusting what people are saying. I've had to take away several house points off people for it."

"You don't say."

"Okay. So Freddie's not suffering on the same level as you when it comes to the rumours, but he _is _suffering. His whole world was turned upside down the other day; that's not something you can bounce back from easily. You've seen how miserable he looks."

"Have you ever considered that he deserves it?" I ask harshly.

For a moment, she's at a loss for words. Then, she bows her head in defeat. "I'm sorry. We - _I _stood back and let him kiss you. I should've realised that I wouldn't have found it as cute if I was in your position. I should've understood that it was wrong." She hesitates.

"But you see, Freddie - Freddie's my family. He's not just _like _a brother - he _is _my brother. I grew up with him in Diagon Alley and played with him every day. Think about your friendship with Liv! You'd do anything for her, defend her even if you don't think she's right because she's your best friend. You've only known her for four and a half years; I've known him for _sixteen, _nearly four times that amount. And he's always been a good person. I've never seen him as an - as an _assailant _\- and it's hard for me to accept it now and have to question everything. So think about how he must feel."

Despite my better judgement, her confession warms my heart (and yes, I do have one despite popular rumours). Compassion awakens within me, shaken up by the guilt and love and regret in her voice. There's something different about her apology compared to James'. Though I'm sure his is genuine, Adelaide's, quite simply, a girl. One that feels guilty about supporting something that plagues thousands of girls like us, one that is torn between loyalty to her friend and her moral compass, one that I can strangely identify with.

"You're the only one that can help me," she concludes, "because no one else understands. Freddie won't listen to anyone but you; I just need you to help him, make him see sense. Get him to start making a change instead of being miserable. Please." She whispers the final word fiercely, a determined glint in her eye.

For some reason, a lump appears in my throat. Intent on saving face, I clear it and ask, "If I do this, will you leave me alone?"

"If that's what you want."

"Where is he, then?"

Relief breaks out onto her face. "The Quidditch pitch. He flies-"

"When he's stressed out, I know."

She smiles at me radiantly, genuine respect in the curve. I ignore it, hoist my bag further onto my shoulder and push past her - back out of the passageway, away from the library, away from the safety of ignorance and toward a lost boy named Freddie Weasley.


	14. A Lost Boy

**14.**

If someone was to ask me whether I was a massive fan of Quidditch, the honest answer would probably be no. That's not to say I don't love watching the games - whenever two houses compete against each other, it's almost impossible to not get swept away in the craze that comes hand in hand with the game, the excitement, the tension. It's a great sport in that sense. I'm still not one of those people that fervently support a professional team and obsessively keep track of the League. I _enjoy _watching Quidditch, but I don't love the sport itself to the same manic degree as most of the wizarding world.

Which is why, I reflect, it's so strange that I'm making a trek to the pitch instead of the library. Even weirder, _I'm _chasing after _Freddie. _It's as if it's bloody Opposite Day.

By the time I've made it down to the pitch, the wind is in the midst of whipping up something fierce, its chilling breath all the more icy since I've recently showered. Goosebumps erupt across my exposed skin as I suppress a shiver and pull my poncho around me. Automatically, I head toward the Gryffindor section of the stands and climb to the very top to scan the skies properly for my target. Floodlights around the pitch glare brilliantly into the night so I raise a hand over my eyes to block the harsh beams out.

I can't believe I'm doing this.

An empty sky meets my gaze and I am half-tempted to turn on my heels and make a quick escape - I can lie to Adelaide about it later - but a voice inside me that sounds suspiciously like Grandpa tells me to stay put. Adelaide's anxious eyes, Liv's tense face, James' halfhearted smile come to mind. Resolution turns to steel inside me. I can do this. I _will _do this. After all, what was it Grandpa said?

_You don't have to like whoever you're angry with. You don't have to care about them. You just need to make some sort of peace with them, even if it's only one-sided._

It's time to live up to the house I belong to. Time to stop running away from horrible truths and whispered confessions. Time to get some answers.

Time for Freddie bloody Weasley to get into my bloody view.

It feels like almost an age has passed before a dark figure appears as a smudge in the sky - it appears that Freddie has been flying at impossible heights to clear his mind. As he drops lower, he does so with style and admirable flourishes that probably would snap my neck if I attempted them. He's graceful on a broomstick, able to direct it with nothing more than a mere thought. Under my watchful gaze, he turns into a sharp dive and then shoots back up, wind whipping his robes about madly before he levels out into a horizontal position, promptly speeding off again. He reaches one end of the Quidditch pitch and then swerves around to race toward the other goalposts when he falters.

He's seen me.

For a moment, he hovers in the air, his uncertainty tangible, even through the distance that separates us. Then, he seems to make up his mind and slowly makes his way over until he lands softly a few metres away from me. He doesn't make an indication to move closer or to sit down, his eyes running over me for the briefest of seconds as he carefully releases his broom and rests it against some seats.

"What are you doing here, Lyss?" he asks tiredly.

With a cynical sort of detached amusement, a distant part of me notes the terrible states that his trio are in right now. Maybe Adelaide seems normal enough from a distance, but today she was desperate, her hair a complete mess, her skin pale and her eyes wide and wild: in other words, the antithesis to Adelaide Longbottom, perfect Prefect and most popular girl in our year.

Meanwhile, James - and now Freddie, it seems - has given up on all attempts to even look normal. Both of them have prominent dark circles under their eyes and a chalkiness to their skin, no matter how rich in colour Freddie is, that suggests a pale sickliness. Their very posture seems so unlike the Golden Boys, so defeated and vulnerable.

I don't like it.

"I figured we're well overdue for a talk," I say finally. Crossing my arms, partly to pull my poncho around me even tighter and partly to protect myself from the inevitable onslaught of confessions, I continue, "Don't you think?"

He stares at me unblinkingly. And then: "I'm sorry."

For some reason, the apology fires me up, especially when delivered so meekly from a boy who _isn't _meek, not by a long shot. What's the use in behaving so timid? Stepping forward angrily, I hiss, "What on earth is _wrong _with you? Stop - stop acting so _meek _and defeated and - and _horrified _all the time. You're so bloody panicky and - and it's fucking _weird, _okay? You don't - you don't get to act like that. Not after all this time."

He doesn't raise his voice. "I said I'm sorry."

"Yeah, I heard," I snap. "Just like the other ten times you've said it."

"Don't you want me to say sorry?"

"Of course, I do. It's just - I don't like it when you say it as if you've been kicked in the face by a bloody hippogriff."

Genuine amusement flickers over his face before he smothers it with another apologetic expression, this time coupled with hesitant confusion. Instantly, it grates on my nerves further and I scowl murderously.

"I wasn't aware that I was saying it like that," he says honestly. "I thought I sounded sincere."

"You did."

"Then what do you _want _from me, Alyssa?" Freddie asks in exasperation. He runs a hand through his hair in frustration and takes half a step back. "I don't understand. . . "

The question has me at a loss for words. In truth, I don't _know _what I want. I came here today for Adelaide's sake because I'm the only one that he'll listen to apparently. And because we need to talk. But there's something about speaking to Freddie nowadays that frays my nerves to no end without a seemingly plausible reason. I struggle to put my feelings into words.

"Why do you feel guilty now?" is what falls out of my mouth. "After two years, why now?"

He grimaces and stares down at his feet. "I didn't - I didn't know that what I was doing was - was _that._"

"How?" I demand. I take another step forward and he automatically takes another step back. "How is it that you were never taught that you can't just kiss someone because you felt like it? Is it something they don't _teach _in the wizarding world or did you just not _care?_"

"I didn't know," he repeats.

"What on earth possessed you to think it's okay to do any of it when clearly, I didn't want any of it? What, did you think it was your _right _to be able to -"

"Of course not! I didn't think I was _entitled_ to it - I just - I just. . . I've talked to Lavender about it," he suddenly says.

Just like that, the rage leaves me and trepidation creeps in, already unsure about whether I want to know about anything concerned with her. Although I have the utmost respect for Lavender Brown, her name is so heavily connected to the darker aspects of life that I can't quite bring myself to be at ease with something related to her.

"And?"

Red stains his cheeks. Freddie keeps his eyes fixed on the tips of his shoes, ignoring the heat that spreads through the tips of his ears and shoves his hands deep into his pockets, the very picture of studied nonchalance. "She says it's a fear of rejection. That I've been so - scared to be pushed away that I reacted the only way I thought I could: by asserting my - _affections _\- by kissing you and making a joke out of everything so that when you did push me away, it was all part of the act."

There it is. The reason that Freddie kissed me hangs in the air: a proverbial penny about to drop, to fall and shatter any preconceptions I have, any vehement denials for his feelings for me. It's all worth nothing now that he's admitted it. A normal girl would blush because Freddie Weasley apparently fancies her, but as we all know, I'm not normal. So I stay calm, rational, clear-minded.

"If it's rejection you're scared of, why didn't you just date any other girl?" I ask. "Everyone loves you."

He mutters something along the lines of "_precisely" _under his breath, but doesn't answer my question properly. Instead, he sadly shrugs and says, "Anyways, that's why I've been so. . . morbid, I suppose. I've been trying to figure out the root of my problem."

"Why does that mean you have to be like this?" I say, gesturing toward all of him. "Being so miserable and sending everyone else into a panic when you could do this _normally _and think and behave _rationally_. I, for one, think you need to get off your high horse. Sure, you found out that you're not as brilliant as you thought you were, but-"

"That's not how it's like."

"-you need to _suck it up _and do something about it." Suddenly feeling outrage burn through my veins, my voice grows louder and more passionate. It never occurred to me that I was genuinely angry by this - not irritated, not insulted, but _furious._ For years, I've been half-resigned to the entire ordeal, but the extent of how it's affected me has abruptly struck me blind with anger. "But no! You walk around with your woe-is-me act and get praised for just _breathing _while _I _have people hounding me about the state you're in-"

"I'm sorry about that, but-"

"-as if I haven't been the one who has been _harassed _all these years by the very person they're asking _me _after!"

He winces. "Look, I'm-"

"As if I constantly keep tabs on you and know every thought that runs through your head! Apparently, _I'm _the only person that can manage to get you back on your feet, but do you know what? It's ridiculous that you're off them in the first place! Even when you're not the bloody Golden Boy, everyone treats you like you should be and you can't handle the fact that you have one big, _giant_ glaring flaw so you don't sleep and you mope all the time and go flying to clear your head. For God's sake, GET OVER YOURSELF. People suffer _more _than you, Freddie. Welcome to the fucking real world."

For the second time in my life, I see him worked up again. Unlike last time, he's not enraged, but he's agitated and frustrated and - I belatedly realise - full of self-hatred. For the second time in my life, I hear Freddie Weasley shout.

"_Just because I'm a Weasley doesn't mean my life's perfect!_ In fact, it kinda means the bloody opposite! Everyone in the bloody world expects great things of me just because I happened to lose people in a war. You talk about suffering? I know _plenty _of it! It runs through my entire bloody family. We're not golden for shit, Alyssa, we're actually far from it. Uncle Harry has still has PTSD, Uncle Bill was mauled by a bloody _werewolf, _Aunt Ginny's paranoid, my dad used to have depression and that's not the sort of thing that goes away! That's not even covering _half _of it. I've grown up surrounded by the after effects of suffering so I think I know the real world pretty damn well.

"That doesn't make it easier to know that everything you thought you knew about yourself is _wrong. _That your morals have been _Avada Kedavra'd_ to hell years ago and you've been kidding yourself all this time. I'm not saying that it's right that you have to go through what you do, Lyss, but when someone's world's been turned upside down, it tends to have an effect on them!"

When his outburst is over, he stands there, breathing heavily. His dark eyes are as wild as his emotions and he closes them as it hits him what he's just revealed.

"I'm sorry," he says for the millionth time, only this time it's resigned. It's not tinged with that insufferable timidness anymore; he's too distressed for that. "Shouldn't have snapped at you."

Before I can pause to consider my words, I swallow my pride for quite possibly the first time in my life and say, "It's okay. I'm sorry too. Probably shouldn't have shouted at you, even if I do mean most of what I said."

Judging from the way his head sharply snaps to me as soon as the words are out of my mouth, Freddie realises the magnitude of what just happened.

I never admit to my mistakes.

"It's okay," he mimics dumbly, still staring at me wondrously. The look causes me to feel self-conscious and I wish I could just snatch the words back from the air and shove them back to where they belong.

"Right."

With a heavy sigh, he sits down on one of the seats. When I settle down in the closest seat to him opposite the aisle, he twists around to face me, legs strewn over the edge. Playing with the edge of his sleeve, he says almost distractedly:

"I was always one of the good guys, you know? It's been drilled into me ever since I was little. When you grow up in a place like Weasley Wizard Wheezes, you can be sure of two things: one) no matter what it looks like, Dad _always _has his eyes on you and two) everyone who walks into the shop will commend you for something you never did. A regular good guy, that's what I've always been and now…" His voice twists with disgust. "Now, I find out that I'm no better than your average T-Bag."

For a moment, I give him a bewildered look and then file away that nugget of information for later. I reply, "Don't be an idiot. You keep pitying yourself and I don't understand how you think that's going to help. Don't get me wrong, you're no angel. It's still disgusting what you did, but it's not something you can run from either by stupid and offensive comments that trivialise what happened."

"Believe me, I know." He laughs humorlessly. "But I'm gonna get better. I promise."

Something clicks in my mind. "Is that why you see Lavender Brown?"

He shrugs. "What else would it be?"

Grimacing, I realise that when she saw me at the Hospital Wing, she probably knew all about me, even though she didn't give anything away. The knowledge elicites some unease - it's not the fact that I'll be discussed that makes me uncomfortable because plenty of people do that (as the past couple of days have clearly shown), but knowing that I'll probably be _analysed _does. By a stranger, no less.

How wonderful.

Silence envelopes us, tinged with anticipation and secrets. Neither of us move, even though there's still much to discuss. For some odd reason, I feel like the ball's in my court. After all, he's already laid his cards out on the table, confessed that he apparently likes me and has a (somewhat ridiculous) fear of rejection which is why he kissed me. I've also learnt that no one in this world is taught that simply taking what you want from a girl isn't respectable, not even little boys with war heroes for family.

"More people need to know about this," he says, mirroring my thoughts. "I guess that one of the things that bothers me the most is that no one else told me it was wrong. Everyone encouraged me whether it was by cheering me on or just laughing it off when they heard about it. No one except you thought to smack some sense in me and I just took that to mean that it was okay to do it. I mean, you've never had much patience for me anyways-"

"Because you always annoyed me," I interject indignantly. "It wasn't without _reason_."

He smiles faintly. "I was an idiot."

"Yes. You were. So I was completely entitled to my reaction."

"I never said you weren't." The smile broadens before it slips off entirely. "But still. . . no one else set me straight. None of the boys, none of the girls. None of our friends. None of the _teachers._ It's not right. It shouldn't be like that."

"You're a Golden Boy." I shrug. "Why would they?"

"Didn't you hear my rant before, Lyss? My life isn't _golden _and I'm not a Golden Boy. I thought you were above that."

"Of course, I am," I protest. The mere thought of behaving like one of the mindless cattle that litter Hogwarts sickens me. "That doesn't change what everyone else sees you as, though. You _are _one of the Golden Boys in their eyes. They'll never think you can do wrong."

He splutters. "That's such-"

"Bullshit?" I offer.

"Yes!"

"Well, it's the way Hogwarts works, unfortunately. If I cared about what they thought, I might try to make them change their minds about what they believed about me, but as it stands, I don't. You're more than welcome to."

He frowns. "I will."

"You will?"

"Yeah," he says firmly. "I _will _change their minds. This isn't going to happen again."

Part of me wants to call him out on it. There's no possible way that someone can kiss me carelessly since third year and suddenly feel so guilty about it in fifth after _one _dictionary definition. No way that he can want to change the whole mindset of Hogwarts after all this time. It's unconceivable.

But I don't.

I'll see what happens in the end.

"James and Adelaide are worried about you," I say.

"They shouldn't be," he replies, tipping his head back to peer at the stars that peek out at us behind the clouds. "Adelaide frets too much and James has more things to worry about."

"I believe the term is multi-tasking."

He lets out a breathless laugh. "Did one of them send you here?"

There's no point in sugarcoating it. Ignoring the voice in my head the strange sense that he'll be disappointed by my words, I say, "Adelaide. She thinks that I'm the only one you'll listen to because I'm the only one who understands."

"No, that's not it."

In the darkness, his dark eyes seek mine out intently. All signs of apprehensiveness have washed away for the time being. It's replaced with a more intense emotion, a sort of understanding between two people that have struggled through the same ordeal. Of course, that's not quite what happened to us. Freddie didn't suffer at all. And I am not a victim or a damsel. I'm a survivor.

"It's what she said."

"You don't understand per se," he says quietly, "but you're the only one who has the right to tell me to snap out of it. I didn't kiss anyone else. No one else can tell me what I should feel because no one else went through it. If you think I deserve this, then I deserve it. It doesn't matter how much Adelaide or James want to be fair, they'll always care too much to think properly about this. That's why she sent you."

"Fair enough," I say after a long pause. "I suppose it is only my right." When he nods wordlessly, I add, "I'll be honest: you _do _deserve to feel guilty about everything. What you did was wrong. But at the same time, you shouldn't be morbid about it. You need go out and fix it, change it all so that you don't make that same mistake twice. You shouldn't make Adelaide go half-mad from worry. You need to snap out of this, but remember your lesson."

When my words are said, I leave him at the Quidditch Pitch, still sat on one of the Gryffindor seats with his broom beside him. Legs thrown over the side, elbows on his knees and head in the palms of his hands, he stares off into the night and tosses my words over in his head. One last glance backward captures that image in my mind before the sight of him melts away into the darkness as I retreat into the castle.

I have another assignment to complete.


	15. Hell Hath No Fury

**15.**

It happens on a Friday.

The day starts out normally enough, nothing about the dreary Scottish weather suggesting that today is the day that the people of Hogwarts get an unwelcome awakening. As usual, I crawl out of bed, rip off Liv's covers despite her keening and stumble into the bathroom to blearily wash my face and brush my teeth. I yawn my way through changing into my school robes and trying to smooth away the frizz in my curls and then curl up in bed for a precious ten minutes while Liv does her face.

"C'mon," she mumbles, grabbing my hand and tugging me up. "Let's go to breakfast."

Far too tired to protest, I let her lead me down to the Great Hall, only just remembering to grab my school bag before she drags me out of the dormitory. Part of me must fall asleep while walking because the next thing I know, I've been steered into a seat at the Gryffindor table.

"It's too early to function," I groan.

"You're telling me," Liv says. She closes her hand around the handle of the nearest coffee pot and pours herself a cup. The rich smell rises in the air and I breathe it in happily. Sensing this, she asks, "Do you want a cup?"

I make a noise of confirmation.

We sit in comfortable silence, sipping on our coffees as the Great Hall slowly fills up with students. I occupy my mind by idly staring up at the ceiling and watching sheets of rain shower down upon us. The sight reminds me of my first year when I couldn't help but twitch for the first month whenever it rained, not quite able to convince myself that I wouldn't be drenched at any second. Of course, when Freddie found out, he made sure that I _did _get soaked during breakfast the next time it rained.

My watch reads that it's twenty five past eight when he walks in with James and Adelaide and settles down next to their family. The latter catches my eye and sends me a small smile that I return with a nod. Ever since I talked to Freddie on Tuesday, she's been considerably warmer to me - not as warm as when she first threw her arms around me on Wednesday night and I completely froze in shock, but noticeably pleasant.

Apparently, my talk with him has worked. Freddie's coming out of his morbid act, something I've seen for myself in classes and in the common room. He's almost back to his usual self, joking around with his teammates and talking to anyone who approaches him with a genial air. His characteristic charming smile is back; he even fired it my way a couple of times albeit with a hesitance that was reserved especially for me.

Don't get me wrong, he still looks awful. The dark circles around his eyes are bad enough to make any worker at Witch Weekly faint and he doesn't walk around with his usual confident lope, instead favouring a new slouch. He's less boisterous, as if his thoughts are almost always occupied, but that's not something I'm complaining about.

"How's your mum?" Liv's voice suddenly cuts into my thoughts. She drains the last drops of her coffee and pours herself another cup.

"Oh, she's fine," I answer after a moment's delay. "She's finally applied for that senior position like we've all been bugging her to do."

"Oh, I hope she gets it. No one deserves it more."

"I know right," I agree as enthusiastically as I can this early in the morning. "She's spent nearly five years there. She's been employed there for longer than most of the other workers so they'd better give it to her."

She hums in agreement. For a few minutes, we fall into another silence, comfortable on my part, but seemingly not on Liv's since she's distractedly tapping her nails against her cup. When she gets tired of that, I watch her begin to laden our plates with some bits and pieces of random breakfast foods: buttered toast, poached eggs, some grilled garlic mushrooms and tomatoes and hash browns. She mutters under her breath as she searches for the bacon. The act is normal enough, but the strange, almost frantic way she does it makes me slightly wary. She's acting a little. . . off all of a sudden.

"Liv," I say, clamping down on her arm before she can grab a platter of crumpets. "Are you alright? You seem a little. . .distracted."

"Distracted? Distracted, how? All I'm doing is trying to get us food, I'm not acting weird at all." She says this all in a rush, so quickly that it's impossible to buy it. When I send her a look, she sighs and starts to fretfully twist her ponytail in her hands. "Look. I haven't been completely - well, it's not that I've been - I just - I've sort of... Oh Godric."

When she doesn't say anything after heaving a huge sigh, I say, "What? Speak English, please. And coherently while you're at it."

"It - no, there's nothing. It's nothing."

"Clearly, it's something."

"No, no, it's not. I'm being - I'm being stupid." She lets out a nervous laugh. "And overreacting. Just ignore me."

"But you're acting _weird_."

"I'm on it," she explains, waving a dismissive hand through the air. She tosses her ponytail back over her shoulder and bites into a hash brown. "Nothing more to it."

I narrow my eyes suspiciously. "I thought you didn't like using that as an excuse."

"I don't." She flushes.

"Then, why don't you tell me what's really up?"

"Because it's not relevant right now," she says. Raising her eyebrows, she adds, "I mean, it's like me asking why you didn't buy a new charm this year."

The statement throws me off guard. I freeze, having completely forgotten about the charm bracelet until today. Knowing and hating that the guilt is stamped all over my face, I glance down at the silver chain on my wrist and then look up to meet her eyes, removing all traces of the emotion.

"I didn't have enough money."

When Liv smiles, it's not cruel or sickeningly sweet. It's genuine, secretive, something that manages to make me feel worse. "We both know that's not true, Lyssa. Just like we both know that something's up with me."

So what? We're admitting to hiding secrets from each other now? The thought of it oddly makes me feel sick. Even though I haven't told her the truth about the charm bracelet for years, for some reason, I never saw it as something necessarily _bad_. But as hypocritical as it sounds, the fact that she's confessed to hiding something from me makes me feel. . .betrayed. I know that it's natural to keep things to yourself, but still. . . This feels different.

"I'll tell you one day," I finally say to her, "why I haven't bought a new charm. But not now. Don't take it personally, I'm just not ready yet."

Not ready to admit that I did the one thing I promised I'd never do: I got my hopes up.

"Likewise."

We fall silent again, this time entering the quietude brimming with thoughts. My mind buzzes with the magnitude of our words, with memories of opening the presents, of realising who sent them, of my talk with Freddie. I ponder of the idea of there being a negative side to being a Golden Boy, over the notion that Freddie fancies me and over the fact that the wizarding world is never taught about boundaries. His words are called into the front of my mind once more.

_I __**will **__change their minds. This isn't going to happen again._

I'm in the midst of wondering whether he'll honour those words when it happens.

BANG!

Shrieks fill the air as a huge stream of fireworks explode in the middle of the Great Hall, bright against the rain that thunders down in the ceiling. Wincing from Liv's particularly loud yelp, I turn to scan the room for the source of the commotion and spot Freddie climbing up to the stage at the front of the Great Hall, wand still outstretched from setting them off. I'm not the only one who's come to the conclusion it's him: James' loud expletive carries down the table when his eyes fall on his cousin and Professor McGonagall rises from her seat, looking most affronted.

"Mr Weasley!" she scolds. "What is the meaning of this? Would you care to explain why you felt the urge to disrupt breakfast with a round of your father's fireworks?"

The cheeky grin that I expect is nowhere to be seen when he turns around, saying, "I'm about to do that now, professor." Instead, there's a grim look on his face, even as he pulls on one of those ridiculous WWW Shield Hats. He takes in a deep breath. "Er. Hi, Hogwarts."

A ripple of laughter follows this; the Gryffindors burst into cheers.

"Hey, Freddie!"

"Alright, Weasley?"

"Freddie!"

"Hey!"

"MORNING, G."

Involuntarily, his mouth twitches in amusement. Then, his face smoothes out, the epitome of serious again. "So. . .a lot of you guys might have noticed that I sort of - well, I haven't been in the best mood lately." Again, shouts answer this, one of them being an earsplitting confession of nothing but love for him. "There's been a reason for this. A really - a really serious one."

"Be that as it may," McGonagall cuts across him, "this is not the time or place to discuss this, Mr Weasley. Nor is it a good enough reason to set off fireworks in the Great Hall."

Fred turns slightly to face her to say, "Actually, it is, Professor," before he looks out on the rest of us once again. "You see, the reason that I've been feeling off for the past fortnight is because I was recently broken some news. Not very good news, either - in fact, it was completely the opposite. But it was something that I needed to hear because without it - well, I don't want to think about what I could've become."

Beside me, Liv twists to send me a disbelieving look, stunned. "Well, I'll be damned. He's not - he's not actually going to do what I think he's going to do, is he?"

I struggle to keep my face normal. No way in hell is Freddie actually living up to his word in classic Weasley style. No way is he going to drag his name through the mud because he feels guilty for what he did. No way is he going to very publicly admit to a _crime_.

Apparently, he is.

"I'm pretty sure you all know who Alyssa Chamberlain is," he's saying now and the statement causes nearly every head in the Great Hall to whip around to look at me, his included. "And - er - well, she's had a lot of rumours about her in the years that she's been here. People. . .most people don't treat her the way they should - which, Lyss, I am _really _sorry about because I know that a lot of it's my fault. A lot of the rumours were about us dating or sleeping together in the Hospital Wing or whatever and I know I used to mess around and say to the first years that I was with you, but all of that was wrong. Really, really wrong." He addresses the rest of the Great Hall now. "I'm not dating Alyssa Chamberlain, guys. And I was a bit of a dickhead for making you think so."

"Mate, who cares?" someone hollers. "It's just a joke."

A chorus of "yeah!"s follow this and a good deal of the students break out in cheers. The sound grates on my bloody nerves, but I keep my cool, refusing to give them what they want: a show.

"It's not just a joke!" he exclaims. "Look, why did you all think I was dating her? Because I kissed her, right? Well, have any of us ever considered that kissing her was wrong?"

"I'd say she's lucky!"

"For what? Having me force myself on her? She's lucky that I gave her a bit of attention, thought she was pretty and that I wouldn't mind snogging her? Is that what you're all saying?" When no one objects to this, he looks at them incredulously. "How is that okay, guys? Lyss has had to deal with this for _two years. _Two years of me acting like a prick and kissing her when she didn't want it."

"She was being a tease!" someone toward the back calls out.

"No, she wasn't. Don't you guys understand?_ I'm _the one in the wrong here. There wasn't one time where she encouraged me to go on. I mean, she smacked me, even shoved a bloody pack of Exploding Snaps in my mouth - and I carried on because I didn't think it was wrong! Everyone - everyone but her seemed to be fine with it, you know? Even right now, you all seem to be fine with what I did.

"I know that a lot of you are wondering why I've changed my mind. If I've been doing this for two years, I must be fine with it, right? I must've - must've felt _entitled _to it or maybe I just didn't care that I was violating someone's rights. But I didn't - I didn't _know_, okay?" He almost seems to be pleading now, as if he's on trial and we're the jury. "I didn't realise how bad it was. Not until the night we came back and, well, Alyssa confronted me. And - and that's when I found out that what I've been doing is-"

"Freddie, _shut the fuck up_." James' warning is loud for everyone to hear, but Freddie takes no notice of it.

"It's - well, it's sexual assault."

* * *

The whole school blows up with the news. It's all anyone can talk about: _did Freddie Weasley really assault Alyssa Chamberlain? Is she not just a tease? Wouldn't some of the teachers have realised? Do you think she Confunded him? What if she slipped him a love potion? What if, what if, what __**if**__-_

I guess a part of me doesn't blame them. To them, Freddie Weasley is something of a messiah, one of Gryffindor's Golden Boys, a hero like his mother, father and namesake before him. Evil can't touch him. Can he really have committed such a heinous act? Because one thing will never change: when someone thinks of sexual assault, they think 'rape', they think 'bruises', 'blood', 'broken'. They think 'creep', 'predator' and 'monster'. When they hear the word 'victim', they think 'tears', 'anxiety' and 'weak'.

Not 'Freddie Weasley'.

Not 'Alyssa Chamberlain'.

Because Freddie is charming and likeable and popular; I'm mean and scathing and antisocial. We don't fit the archetypes they so desperately want to brand us with and so they're left at a complete loss on what to do, some flat-out denying the allegations.

"It's not possible," someone remarks I pass them in the Charms corridor. "Would a Weasley ever do something like that?"

"I mean, it was just a kiss."

"It was harmless."

"You can't blame him. Have you seen how short the dresses she wears on the weekends are?"

"It's bloody Scotland. Have some self-respect."

It's like the rumours at the beginning of the week, but the situation's both somehow worse yet better at the same time. Don't get me wrong, it's frustrating to hear strangers whisper behind my back about how I probably asked for it or how it couldn't be assault if Freddie and I have been friends since first year or how I'm a bloody _tease_. It makes me want to whip around and rip into whoever's muttering such bullshit.

"For the love of Merlin," Liv snaps suddenly at final break. She turns sharply on her heels to deliver an uncharacteristically lethal glare to the first years that hover in the mouth of the alcove we just passed. "Would it be too much for you to get a grip and stop _slut-shaming_ people?"

"Excuse me?" one of them squeaks indignantly, voice as shrill as a harpy.

"I said to stop slut-shaming other girls, Avis. Would you like it if - oh, I don't know - Ronnie Jorkins tried to snog you at every opportunity and then everyone else said that it was okay because you were a 'tease'?"

The girl's mouth works furiously, but no sound comes out of it. Finally, she splutters, "N-no, but that's - that's completely different!"

"No, it's not. If girls can't even respect other girls, what hope do we have of getting guys to? Freddie might be a friendly bloke, but that doesn't mean he has the manners of an angel."

On the other hand, there's people that apparently feel genuine regret for what happened, something that confuses and conflicts me. Part of me wants to snap at them for only approaching me with apologies after _Freddie _admitted he's been in the wrong all this time. Another part of me supposes that any sincere apology is alright in my books.

Yet another part of me doesn't give a _shit _about what they think.

Lessons have been exasperating all day. Teachers have been awkwardly delivering our lessons, trying not to give Freddie and I uneasy glances, as if the guilt and inadequacy is eating them up inside. Some of them gave me house points after calling on me for the answer to an easy question, clearly attempting to somehow make it up to me with the pitiful offering.

Once again, I find my irritation slowly reaching a crescendo, the highest peak of a whirlwind rollercoaster where I'll hover for a few seconds before hurtling down into the depths of my anger. All fucking _week _I have been the centre of attention, more so than ever and I haven't truly lashed out yet - sure, I knee'd that one sixth year where the sun doesn't shine and I snapped at both Adelaide and Freddie, but to most people, I have appeared to be the epitome of unfazed, uncaring, _untouchable_. And apparently, this has encouraged them to go on with their stupid little rumours and discussions as if they don't have anything better to do than try to make my life into some type of reality show. This isn't freaking _Geordie Shore_.

It's practically inevitable that I topple over the edge when Sarah Fancourt makes a snide comment to her friend as I pass them on my way to common room about how I should count myself lucky and honoured. That I'm pretending to act offended because I'm a feminist - like I haven't enjoyed every second of kissing Freddie and that I would probably enjoy anything else he might've been inclined to do if he ever wanted to sink that low. Fate probably smiles down on me for exacting the revenge I wanted to do all those months ago - with a sharp U-turn and a furious slash of my wand, Sarah Fancourt's short blonde locks hit the ground and she is left with a head as bald as Voldemort's was said to be.

There's a moment of silence in which she registers just what has happened. And then she lunges forward, wand outstretched with a shriek piercing enough to wake the dead.

"You - you _bitch_!"

The sight of her makes me feel oddly elated, so glad for a chance to unleash the rage that's been bubbling underneath my skin. To let it pour out in a torrent of power, in jinxes and charms and doling out humiliation because there is_ no fucking way_ I am going to let myself be insulted any longer.

Unfortunately, I don't get my chance to. It seems that Sarah Fancourt is lucky in the sense that she always picks a fight outside a classroom because a witch rushes out into the corridor and erects a shield in between the two of us before we can even utter our first spells.

"What is the meaning of this?" she demands, her chest heaving in anger.

"Professor, she just - she turned around and hexed me just because I was talking to Maariya about what happened at breakfast today!" she exclaims shrilly. "As if the whole school hasn't been talking about it! Of course, everyone's discussing it. That doesn't mean she can just _hex my hair off_."

The professor - Liv's Muggle Studies one, I realise, though I can't recall her name for the life of me - turns around to me. Her face is completely expressionless when she asks, "Is this true?"

"Almost," I snap. "I did hex her hair off, but not _just _because she was talking about it."

"Regardless of the reason, it's still not acceptable behaviour-"

"OH, BUT SLAGGING ME OFF ABOUT HOW I APPARENTLY WOULD LOVE TO BE ASSAULTED IS?!"

"Miss Chamberlain!" she exclaims, aghast. "This is a very serious accusation to make!"

"I didn't say that," Sarah protests desperately. She turns to the professor with pleading eyes, moving closer to her as if I'm about to break through the shield and strangle the life out of her. "Why - why on earth would I say it?"

"Oh, shut the fuck up," I snarl, not caring anymore about the teacher or about being above the complete _pricks _that populate this castle. "Everyone knows you fucking fancy Freddie and that you'd be over the fucking moon if he kissed _you_. Well, guess what? HE DIDN'T. He kissed _me _for _two years _without my permission, meaning I didn't want it, I didn't enjoy it and I SURE AS HELL WOULD HAVE MINDED IF HE TRIED TO DO SOMETHING MORE."

_"You're twisting my words!"_

"NO, _YOU'RE_ A FUCKTWIT THAT APPARENTLY DOESN'T HAVE ENOUGH COMMON SENSE TO REALISE THAT IF FREDDIE HIMSELF SAID IT WAS SEXUAL ASSAULT, THEN _CLEARLY _IT WAS FUCKING SEXUAL ASSAULT."

"You-"

"ENOUGH!" roars the professor, cutting across us with a rough bellow. Red stains her cheeks as a mark of her fury and she seems to emanate it with every breath. "I have _never _\- not in all of my years of teaching have I ever been witness to such a _disgusting_ display of behaviour."

"Are you sure? Because I'm pretty certain you've seen Freddie kiss me-"

"Quiet, Miss Chamberlain! I understand that the staff here have made a serious mistake with the situation between you and Mr Weasley, but I can assure you that we will be trying to rectify it immediately. However, that does not excuse the uncouth and vulgar language you used in my presence _or _the fact that you broke a multitude of school rules when you used magic in the corridor to harm another student."

"You're joking, right?" My mouth falls open in shock.

With most of my past detentions, I've always known that I deserved them on some level. But this? How is this _my _fault? How am I expected to let everyone slut-shame me and not retaliate? How is that fair?

Sarah Fancourt smirks triumphantly. "I don't think she is. That's what you get for making my hair fall out."

I sneer. "Well, apparently, you're so ugly that it didn't make a difference, you daft bint."

"Once again!" thunders the professor. "How is it that you continue to swear even as I am reprimanding you for it?"

"How is it that I'm getting the blame when Fancourt here is the one that was insulting and provoking me? How is _she _not getting shouted at?"

"Oh, don't worry," she says. "Miss Fancourt won't be escaping the consequences of her actions."

Fancourt's smirk slides off her quicker than Stinksap. "Wait, sorry?"

"You blatantly provoked a fellow student, demeaned her and said some _horrible _things about what has been committed against her. This is not the sort of behaviour we expect here at Hogwarts and frankly, it is appalling that you would act like this. Twenty points off Slytherin."

"_Twenty points?!_" she exclaims. "Professor, you _can't_ do this to me-"

"I think you'll find that I can. You will also be attending detention with me tonight in my classroom." Before I can take the opportunity to mimic the Slytherin and smile gloatingly, the professor adds, "That goes for you too."

I stare at her in shock. "What - but -"

"As I said, you displayed horrid behaviour today. Your language was unacceptable and your demeanour towards not just Miss Fancourt but myself was extremely rude. Such an act needs consequences. You will be at the detention tonight.

"Now, if you'll excuse me, I need to return to my office. I expect the two of you to go your separate ways now. Miss Chamberlain, you can return to the Gryffindor common room. Miss Fancourt, please make your way to the infirmary with Miss Ali."

She indicates Sarah's friend, who I'd completely forgotten about. The girl looks completely gleeful at gaining such juicy gossip, but schools her features into an understanding, compassionate expression as she leads a mutinous Sarah away.

As they all leave me, I realise there's nothing left to do but go to the common room and let myself burn out.

* * *

Liv drops me off to detention after dinner, sending me a sympathetic glance as she goes on her way to the dungeons. Scowling, I push open the door and enter the Muggle Studies classroom where Sarah Fancourt and the professor already sit. I choose a seat at the back next to the window where I can amuse myself by looking out at the night sky.

"We're just waiting for one more student," she says, "and then we can begin."

"What will we be doing?" Sarah asks, her polite words doing little to hide her irritation.

"I don't believe in doing anything during detention. Detention in Muggle schools consists of an hour in complete silence to allow the students to think about their actions and the consequences of them. It's to let the message sink in."

Fancourt's face clearly says that she thinks it sounds like complete bullshit, but she chooses not to say anything. Better to sit in bored silence than be forced to clean the Trophy Room again.

Two minutes pass before the classroom door opens once again and Isabella Thicknesse enters. The sound of boyish laughter follows her in as her friends drop her off and go on their way, their teasing calls getting fainter by the second. She still has a grin on her face as she turns to face us properly, but it is quickly replaced by a neutral expression.

"Sorry that I'm late, professor," she says.

"Not to worry, Miss Thicknesse. You haven't missed anything. Please take a seat and remain silent for the hour."

A pale eyebrow arches in surprise, though she doesn't question her decision and settles down in the back row, a few seats down from me.

And so commences the single most boring detention I have ever endured. At least when you have to clean the trophy room or sort out Filch's files or have to pick up litter on the grounds, you have something to occupy your hands, some sort of outlet to pour your frustration into so that you're too exhausted to be angry in the end.

But Muggle-style detention? It's _torture_. It's the sort of silence that feels tangible, as if you can whip out a knife and hack into it. Suffocating - that's what it is. The sort of suffocating silence where you can feel its fingers creeping into your ears, slicing open your head to pour into your mind so a headache begins to ring in the back of your mind like_ thud thud thud._

And it's only been twenty minutes.

I counted.

The only thing that breaks the silence is the occasional rustle of the professor's parchment as she distracts herself with reading whatever is printed on those sheafs. Even that fades into the background, nothing more than an almost undetectable buzz.

Finally, she pushes her glasses up onto her head and rises, stretching her limbs. I snap my head to the clock hopefully - it's only half past eight - but before my heart can even rise properly, she stops its ascent firmly.

"Girls, I'm just going to have to pop to the staff room and pick up a bunch of essays I need to mark. I'll be back in ten minutes. In the meantime, I'm trusting you to stay here and behave."

With a stern look at us, she promptly walks out of the door without a glance back.

For three minutes and twenty three seconds, we obey her, remaining in complete and utter silence, not even shifting in our seats until Sarah Fancourt blows a loud breath out from between pursed lips.

"Are we seriously supposed to just stay here?" she exclaims. When all she receives in response is a dark look from me and a shrug from Isabella Thicknesse, she continues, "I mean, we can just walk out. All we're doing is sitting here in silence. It's _pointless_."

Isabella Thicknesse says, "She locked the door, Sarah."

". . . Fuck. Is that even legal?"

I can't resist. "I don't know. But do you know what's definitely not? Assault."

She whips around, sharp eyes spitting fire. Kneeling on her seat to lean forward better, she hisses, "For Salazar's sake, get _over it. _Most people don't buy it, you know, so I don't know why you think attacking _me _will do anything."

"Or you could get a brain and think for once," I snap. "If you weren't so obsessed with Freddie, you might actually discover some brain cells knocking around in that fat head of yours."

Her mouth falls open indignantly. "One, I have a brain and two, my head isn't _fat_. And I'm not _obsessed _with Freddie either."

Smiling vindictively, "I doubt any of that. Remember that I saw just how fat your head is earlier today?"

"Well, you're no Gladrags' model," she snaps. "Your dresses could hold two of me."

Before I can open my mouth to retaliate, Isabella Thicknesse cuts across us. Her voice is sharp and firm, holds no room for arguments. Usually, I don't just listen to people if they haven't earned my respect, but something about her husky tone screams that she's an authority figure. Apparently, she wears her Prefect badge well.

"Will the two of you cut it out? This is completely ridiculous. Why do girls always have to resort to calling each other 'fat' as an insult?"

"She started it," Sarah Fancourt says defensively.

"So what? Be smart about it and be the bigger person for once. What did arguing land the two of you? In detention and you're going to continue to find yourselves here if you don't pull your act together."

"Can you really talk? You're in detention too, Thicknesse."

"Yeah." She raises her eyebrows, unabashed. "For not doing my homework. Not for slagging someone off or making their hair fall out."

"I had every right." I scowl, crossing my arms. "She was being stupid about what happened today. Why is too hard to accept that Freddie fucking Weasley isn't as perfect as you think he is? Just because you think he's God's gift to earth doesn't mean he can't do anything wrong!"

Sarah Fancourt stands up, throwing her arms into the air exasperatedly. "Oh, for the love of Merlin! So what if I fancy him? Half of the school fancies Freddie Weasley! It's just what you do!"

"You don't even know him!"

It's true. They think they know him inside out because he talks to whoever comes his way, because he's a Weasley and a Beater for the Gryffindor Quidditch team so he _must _be amazing in every way. They don't know about the fact that he's pretty shit at Herbology or that he goes flying to clear his mind or that he sees Lavender Brown. They think he's bloody _perfect _when he really isn't.

"That doesn't make it any less normal," she cries. "Everyone fancies someone famous or that they don't really know. It might be the lead of _Harry and the Potters_ or that good looking Gladrags' model or just someone they find cute. It's fucking normal, Chamberlain."

How does that even make sense? Because fancying is something more than just finding someone cute, it's genuine attachment. You can't be attached to someone you don't know.

"That's pathetic."

"No, _you're_ pathetic, Chamberlain, for not understanding such a normal concept."

Isabella Thicknesse takes the opportunity to interject. "Settle down now. There's no need to get catty." I feel like turning around and flipping her two fingers until the image is imprinted in her eyes. "Have you ever considered that you just don't understand each other?"

"Why would I want to understand _that?_" I spit.

"Likewise."

For once, I see genuine irritation on the blonde's face. Whenever I see Isabella Thicknesse, she's usually either laughing from the banter her friends spout or completely devoid of visible emotion. There's no in between.

"Well, Chamberlain, you have to understand that people are bitchy when they're jealous or defensive which is what Fancourt here is."

"- I'm not jealous -"

"- I don't _have _to do anything -"

"Oh, come off it. Sarah, you _fancy _Freddie. And I don't think there's one person in this castle that doesn't know about his massive thing for Chamberlain. Of course, you're lashing out because of this, however slyly." She turns to me. "And I know that you're hurt by what people are saying-"

"I'm not hurt."

"- which is a completely _natural _and _human _thing to do, but from what I hear, you're usually pretty unfazed when it comes to these things. Stay like that. Don't give the people what they want."

"I don't - I don't need your advice," I say despite knowing that what she's saying is true, that her words practically mirror the mantra I've repeated in my head for this past week. "I can handle myself."

No words are spoken for a long moment before Sarah Fancourt asks with only the slightest hint of a bite, "Are you done giving us advice, Miss Brown?"

While her fellow Slytherin just brushes off this comment, the name makes me feel uneasy, thinking about whether this actually mirrors Freddie's sessions with the woman herself, whether I'm analysed in their sessions.

"Not really," Thicknesse is saying when I tune back in. "Sarah, I know that you're not _completely _horrible, but you really need to - for lack of a better term - pull your head out of your arse. Alyssa's a _girl_. A girl who has had a guy kiss her when she didn't want to be. Forget about the fact that it's Freddie Weasley for a second, just think about how _you'd_ feel if everyone seemed to support a guy snogging you when you didn't want to be."

Pink flushes across the pale skin of Sarah Fancourt as she considers how ugly the situation seems if it concerns her. "Well - well, I didn't see you fighting Freddie off," she says accusingly to Thicknesse.

"I figured it wasn't my place. Doesn't mean I ever approved, though. I always did think Freddie Weasley was a bit of a pillock." She glances at me apologetically, but I don't give anything away. "The point is that you're a girl just like Alyssa and all of the other girls who have had guys mistreat them. You should be backing her up, not accusing her of random shit."

"Exactly," I say.

Part of me wants to pull Fancourt close and yell it in her face because I know it won't sink in, hating the fact that someone else is fighting my battle for me. But I'm sick and tired of arguing with people. I feel like confrontation is all I've done for ages. I just want to put my head down, ignore the rest of the fucking idiots and focus on making something of myself. I don't want stupid drama and Freddie Weasley.

"Don't you think I know that?" Sarah finally snaps, looking as wild as a cornered animal. "But - Freddie's - he's a nice guy, okay! I've spoken to him, I know this, I do."

"Nice enough to kiss someone against their will?" The retort slips out of my mouth before I can think twice. Before Thicknesse can send me an exasperated look, I sigh. "Look. I know that Freddie's friendly. If he hadn't tried to kiss me, I might even be friends with the bloke. And it's clear that the idiot regrets what he did since he's willing to see La - er, to tell all of Hogwarts about it. But that doesn't make what he did _right_."

Looking somewhat grim, Isabella Thicknesse looks me directly in the eye as she nods in agreement. Her expression seems to show complete empathy, something different from the countless girls that approached me today with hesitant smiles or the distressed guilt of the Weasleys and Adelaide. Something stronger, calmer, more dependable. For the life of me, I don't know why this near stranger seems this way.

"It's like my father always said. Sometimes, good men do bad things."

* * *

**DISCLAIMERS: The chapter title 'Hell Hath No Fury' is an interpreted line based on a quote from ****_The Mourning Bride _****by William Congreve. I don't own ****_Geordie Shore_**** either. The fictional band ****_Harry and the Potters_**** is not based on the one irl of the same name. **

**A/N: So I'm not 100% certain on this chapter for a couple of reasons - basically the drama and the ending. But I figured that Freddie telling everyone so publicly in an attempt to get them to reevaluate their perspective of both him and Lyssa would definitely cause something. Interesting fact, though: when I planned this chapter months ago, we were actually supposed to understand Sarah Fancourt and not see her as a 2D Queen Bitch, but she doesn't seem to like that interpretation of her.**

**If anyone is wondering where the hell Isabella Thicknesse came from, she decided that she will be a friend to Lyssa in the future. Their link lies in Liv and we will see in a couple of chapters what the link is. **

**(Also James swore because he realised that if the media gets a hold of this, shit would hit the fan.)**

**(P.S: I don't think there's any more arguments after this, except for one right in the last couple of chapters of the fic.)**


	16. Turning Tables

**16.**

It's amazing what you can do when you're putting something off. Suddenly, it's as if anything in the world, even the most insignificant task, is of utmost importance and you have to do it right at this moment or you might spontaneously combust. Anything and everything becomes the perfect excuse.

Like applying nail varnish, for example.

I sit cross-legged in my bed, the pillow on my lap acting as a support for my hand as I try to apply one of Liv's nail varnishes as neatly as I can. Since I don't do it often, my hand is pretty unsteady - which just gives me more time to delay the inevitable.

I'm alone in the dormitory - Liv is spending some quality time with Colin, Mirabelle Smith and Little Emma Evans are in the other dormitory and I think Adelaide is at a Prefects' meeting - so I let myself reassure myself out loud as if it'll make my excuses less flimsy.

"It's not as if I'm _obliged _to do anything," I mutter as my pinkie nail is coated in a brilliant red. "I mean, I didn't ask him to do that. I said he was welcome to and I said he needed to stop moping around, but I didn't tell him to do it so - so _publicly_. That was all on his part. So technically, I don't _have _to say thank you, do I? No. I don't." Then, as an afterthought: "Stupid Freddie Weasley. Always has to go the bloody extra mile."

I pick up my right hand and blow on it, looking at my clumsy work. Somehow, it doesn't quite match up to the skill of my best friend.

"How do people manage to do this shit? I barely managed to stay on the nail - great, I've missed a damn spot. For the love of _God_."

Dissatisfied, I lean back against the headboard and wait for my nails to dry. Technically, I can dry it within seconds, but the nails on my right hand are the ones that are wet so grabbing my wand will probably smudge everything. No, there's no point in ruining ten minutes worth of hard work. I'll just sit here and wait until I'm sure that they're as dry as the Sahara.

Five minutes have passed and I haven't dared to move from my position when the door opens and Adelaide enters, expelling a tired sigh as she unknots her hair from the messy bun she stuck it in. Blonde locks cascading down, she meets my eyes and smiles tentatively.

"Hey, Alyssa."

"Er. Hi."

She moves towards me, stifling a yawn. "I just came back from quite possibly the most boring Prefects' meeting ever. I bet you've been having a better time than me. What've you been doing?"

I shrug, lifting my right hand. "Painting my nails. I'm still waiting for it to dry."

"This is Liv's, isn't it?" she asks and picks the bottle up, studying the label. "It's part of the _Impervious _line."

"Er - okay?"

She laughs. "That means it dries within half a minute."

"Oh." I blink, feeling like an idiot. "I didn't know that. Guess there's no point in sitting here then."

"Do you have any plans today, then? It's not everyday that you wear nail varnish."

Shaking my head, I slide out from under the covers and slip my feet into the warm slippers next to my bed, a present from Grandma in third year. Swinging my legs back and forth, I shake my head. "No. I was just bored."

She nods understandingly. She sweeps her long hair to the side and idly begins to braid it into a Dutch braid, nimble fingers weaving the strands with expertise. Coughing awkwardly, she says, "Well - James and I are planning to go to the library in about an hour and a half. You can join us if you want?"

A grimace unfurls onto my features before I can help it. Though there's certainly been a more amiable air between Adelaide and I, something that hasn't been here since before Christmas, I'm not about jump into study dates with her. And besides, for all his apologies and flimsy smiles, James still hasn't exactly forgiven me for anything I've done and probably blames me for Freddie's behaviour on Friday.

"Yeah, I'm alright."

Surprisingly, she looks disappointed. "We won't bite, you know."

"I like studying alone."

Seeming to accept defeat, she gets up and turns to go to the bathroom, muttering, "Yeah, you like to do a lot of things alone, apparently."

Before she can escape, however, I throw out an "Excuse me?" and my legs come to a stop, thudding against the frame of my bed. My eyes dig into her back until she turns around, looking only the slightest bit abashed.

"It's nothing."

"Didn't sound like it."

Maybe it's the fact that my tone isn't very cutting, not when you compare it to what it can be. Or maybe it's the fact that she just can't be arsed anymore. In any case, Adelaide looks at me unflinchingly and says:

"Look, Alyssa . . . I know that you're, like, this independent woman and stuff and I know that things aren't exactly great between us, but for Godric's sake, I'm not an enemy here. I'm your friend and I've _been _your friend for five years. Maybe I wasn't the - best friend I could've been considering what happened with Freddie, but I did try and you just _blocked _everyone except Liv out. And that - that _hurts_, okay?"

I stare at her. "Where did this even come from? All I said was that I don't want to go to the library with you."

"Yeah because for some reason, you don't think of me or James as friends, even though we spent _so much _time together before that thing with the Exploding Snaps."

She's right, I suppose. For people I didn't think of as friends, they sure did spend a lot of time with me. And haven't I been wondering what they are - or were - to me recently? Brocklehurst pointed out that I spent a lot of time with Freddie, I noticed their absence when they first stopped sitting with us at lunch - hell, even Mum asked about them in her letters!

"Well, James clearly doesn't think of me as a friend right now," I say, trying to fight off memories of Freddie teasing me, James documenting it and Adelaide telling them to lay off me with a laugh. "He might've apologised, but he's still-"

"Angry. Frustrated." She raises a pale eyebrow. "You still haven't apologised, you know."

Apologised for what, exactly? For changing Freddie? For shouting at him when all he wanted to do was help me with my homework? Or for shoving Exploding Snaps into his mouth that one day a long, long time ago? Fair enough, the Exploding Snaps may have been unnecessary, but I had a bad day and he'd gone back to kissing my cheek when I was already irritated - and besides, Freddie wasn't even annoyed or offended by what I did. And I've already apologised to him for the argument in the common room.

Instead of saying this, I simply shrug.

She takes this as a cue to continue. "You don't seem to regret anything which is what James resents. Freddie's his family, not just a cousin but another brother. You've hurt him multiple times and you haven't flinched. Of course James is angry at the moment. But he'll get over it. Eventually."

"Right."

"We're still your friends, Alyssa," she tells me in earnest. Leaning forward, her eyes press into me urgently. "We were just hurt and - and a little fed up, I guess. At the end of the day, we're still here, though."

My fingers have been playing with one of my charms as I've listened to her speak. Holding the wand in between my thumb and index finger, I pause and look up at her. "What's the point? I mean, why would you do it if I never really thought of you as friends?"

She flinches as if stung. "Because you're not all bad. You're an _incredibly _difficult person, yeah, but I know that there's some good in you. We've all seen it." I want to snort at the cliché line, but remain quiet, listening to her go on. "Me, Liv, James - and we all know Freddie has. So, for now at least, I'm still going to count you as a friend. Hopefully, you're going to prove that this isn't a stupid decision to make."

It's weird, really. Ever since the Christmas holidays - maybe even before that - my emotions have gone wild. I've gone from not minding Adelaide to not being able to stand her to being on alright terms with her again. I can't be _bothered _burning with hatred all the time. It's better to choose my battles carefully and to go up against someone like Adelaide Longbottom isn't a great fight to have, not without good reason.

If this conversation occurred two days ago, I probably would've made some scathing comment right about now and then storm off, seething as subtly as I could. As it is, it's Sunday and I really have burnt myself out (for now, at least) and am currently in the process of procrastinating and avoiding the unpleasant things in life, rather than facing them with a scowl the size of the Pacific Ocean and all the snark in the world.

Which is probably why, instead of making a rude remark and then keeping to myself afterwards, I mutter, "Don't take it personally. I just - I don't know why, but I don't like to let people into my close circle. It's just what I do."

"Maybe you need to start letting people in," she says softly after a moment. "It must be awful lonely without us."

With that and a smile to let me know she means no harm, she promptly turns on her heel and enters the bathroom, leaving me alone to question why the hell I said that. I don't like opening up to anyone other than Liv and Mum so explaining my actions to Adelaide isn't something I'm all too accustomed to doing.

Maybe it's even stupid Isabella Thicknesse with her bloody advice. I don't even know why I humoured her after the detention when she took me aside to tell me I need to be less hostile. Probably because Liv agreed with it when I relayed the conversation to her.

Groaning, I finally get up from bed and hastily grab my school bag, figuring that a productive way of putting off the inevitable would be to revise whatever I learnt today. You know, because I live such an exciting life. As I traipse down to the library, Adelaide's words return to me and I scowl. Just because I have few friends doesn't mean I'm isolated. Being selective never harmed anybody. Sure, it might mean that I'm alone whenever Liv's being Liv and hanging out with anyone who likes and misses her company - which is a good chunk of Hogwarts - but it doesn't mean I'm _lonely_.

For God's sake, I need to stop thinking about other people's words. None of that is relevant anyway.

When I push the library doors open, the sight of countless fifth and seventh years greets my eyes; now that we're on the other side of Christmas, exams seem a whole lot closer and everyone feels the pressure to put their heads down and succeed. Picking my way through the crowd, I walk to the back of the labyrinth to a table near the History of Magic section - it's usually left empty since Pince is known to lurk there often. Since I don't have anything to hide, I like to sit there a lot of the time because the quiet helps me to concentrate better.

When I arrive, however, it's clear that I'm not going to concentrate properly. Because lo and behold, the one person I've been trying to avoid is already sat on one of the chairs, his head bent over his books.

Do I leave before he sees me? Or do I just get it over and done with?

Just before I'm about to turn on my heel and scurry away as fast as I can, something inside me takes control. I feel a calm resolution settle within me; I'm not going to run off. There's no use in doing that. When we talked the other day at the pitch, I didn't flinch and I'm not going to be a coward now that he's done something both incredibly reckless and - though I don't care to admit it - selfless in a way, I suppose.

My bag lands on the table with a thud.

Freddie's head snaps up. When he sees who it is, his elbow jerks in surprise, knocking over the ink pellet beside him. Flushing, he mutters, "Shit. Er - shit. _Evanesco_."

I bite on my lower lip to stop it from curling in amusement. "Smooth."

Somehow, his face turns redder. He coughs awkwardly and straightens out the half-empty vial. "I try my best."

"Right."

Realising I'm just standing there, I pull out the chair opposite him and sit down in it, dragging my bag toward me to fish out my own material. I can feel his curious eyes on me as I do so, but I keep mine determinedly in front of me, watching my hands move.

_Unzip. Reach in. Pen, parchment, Defence textbook. Zip._

His voice breaks into my thoughts. "Would you - would you like me to move?"

"You sat here first, didn't you?"

"Well, yeah, but-"

"Then, no, you don't need to move," I say, smoothing out a roll of parchment. "The table's big enough for both of us." I tilt my head up to glance at his uneasy expression.

Looking furtively around us, he says lowly, "Yeah, but. . . people might talk. You know, about you."

I have to let out a small unamused laugh at that. "They'll do that no matter what I do. Sitting at the same table as you while I revise won't make that any worse than usual."

Freddie doesn't look convinced. He runs a hand through his hair and tugs on a lock. "I've heard about what happened with you and Sarah Fancourt."

I force myself to keep my face straight. "And?"

"And - and-" He looks like he hasn't planned to answer that. "And I think it was wrong of her to have said that." Before I can open my mouth to respond, he quickly adds, "I'm just - I feel like I'm apologising a lot recently - which probably says that I'm doing something wrong - but I'm genuinely sorry that what happened on Friday ended up giving you a detention. I mean, I didn't _mean _for people to respond that way, you know? I wanted them to see how it's wrong and how it's complete bullshit that people hate you so much for not kissing me back when _I _should've been the one getting all the heat, but it backfired and - I'm just really sorry. I just - I don't want anyone else to be in our position. Getting kissed or doing the kissing and not knowing that any of it's wrong. But it all went to the dogs in the end."

For God's sake.

I'm going to have to say it, aren't I?

I suppose it's quite ridiculous, really, that the words feel so foreign on my tongue. Determinedly staring at a loose thread of his jumper, one that caresses his sharp collarbone, I slowly say, "Don't worry about it. It - er - it must've taken a lot to go up there and say it. So. Thanks, I guess."

Shock renders him speechless before it gives away to a blinding smile. It's unbelievable how _relieved _he looks that I'm not upset; the sheer gratitude and happiness in that one curve of his lips nearly lights up his whole face. All because I thanked him.

He's not lying when he says he fancies me, was he?

Not wanting to face that smile, I duck my head and flick through my textbook, searching for the right page. With a cough, I add, "And if you want to see it as a great success, a few people did come up to me and apologise - they probably only did that because it was you that said all that and not me."

"Oh."

"Most people are convinced that I'm Gryffindor's resident whore," I can't help but say, feeling the familiar sparks of anger flow through my veins. "Because there's so much _tangible _evidence for that."

He doesn't say anything. There's nothing for him _to _say, other than another sorry, of course, and I think he knows that if he says that again, I'll probably tell him to shove it up his arse. So we work in silent companionship, no words being exchanged between us as we drill information into our brains.

Soon enough, I lose myself in the familiar pastime of studying, sinking into the act of taking notes with ease. Since we're near the History of Magic area, there's not much around to distract me anyways, not even a couple sneaking away for a snog in the Goblin Wars section. In fact, I power through my work for almost forty minutes before I resurface at the sound of Freddie murmuring under his breath.

"But that makes no _sense_. How does that even _work?_ I just - I don't understand." He continues to mutter to himself until he realises that I'm watching him. He blinks. "Er. Is - is everything okay?"

I raise an eyebrow. "You're talking to yourself."

Once again, the faint red rushes into his cheeks. Still, he shrugs with all the nonchalance in the world. "It's just this bit in Herbology. The one about the Asian water plant that we covered before the Christmas holidays."

"What about it?"

"Nothing. I mean, I'm just trying to figure something out."

"Right."

I return to my notes, reading over the last few lines to get my brain back into the game, but I just can't concentrate. It's as if my ears are straining to catch every word that falls off his tongue, my eyes uselessly sliding over the same words over and over again until I finally throw down my pen.

"Look," I say before I can even stop to think my words through, "do you want help with this thing or am I going to have to listen to you go on and on?"

"Sorry?"

I sigh. Now that I've asked it, there's no backtracking. Trying to forget that night when he offered to help me with my homework and I shouted at him, I offer, "Do you want me to help you? I mean, I'm averaging an O in Herbology so I know my stuff and to be frank, you're annoying me with all of these muttering. Mind you, this is a one-time offer only so-"

He cuts me off with a laugh. And I mean, a _laugh_. One of those ones that erupts out of your chest before you can help it, loud and rich and clear. One that takes me aback for a good second before I lean over and clap my hand over his mouth because it's the kinda laugh that also gets you kicked out of the library which I am not letting happen to me.

For a second, we remain like that: my hand smothering his laughter, his dark eyes still crinkled in amusement, staring up at me.

"We're in a library," I remind him almost fiercely. "You don't _laugh _like that in a library."

Once my hand moves away from him, he cracks a smile. "You sound like my Aunt Hermione."

"Is that supposed to be an insult?"

"Just an observation."

"Whatever." I begin to gather up my work, arranging them into a neat pile to shove into my bag as I rise from my seat. Freddie's hand shoots out to grab my arm and then he snatches it back just as quickly, as if he's been burnt. I send him a strange look. "What's _wrong _with you?"

"N-nothing." He runs his hand through his hair again with a little nervous laugh. "Er. Didn't you say that you'd help with this Herbology thing?"

"That was _before _you laughed at my offer."

"Not in the way you think I did! I was just laughing because - well, because."

"Well, that was an intelligent answer," I say snarkily. "Deserves an Outstanding. No, they should create a new grade for it - _that's_ how great it was."

Once again, he smiles. It seems that now Freddie has 'snapped out of it', he can't stop doing that. How is it that someone can go from moping around to constantly grinning? Even though I prefer this behaviour to said moping, it reminds me of the obnoxious things he used to do with that charming smile of his that won over 95% of Hogwarts. He might be noticeably less arrogant and less sure of himself - I can see that in the way he still stumbles over some of his words and is careful to remain to his side of the table whereas before, he would come as close to me as humanly possible - but at the heart of it, he's still Freddie Weasley the Golden Boy, made for the spotlight and still somewhat confident.

And at the heart of it, I'm still Alyssa Chamberlain, the one girl that isn't swayed by that smile and doesn't care much for his antics. The one that still won't hesitate to slap him silly if needs be. Still pissed off about the fact that people assume they have a right to form invalid opinions of me and only apologise when their darling Weasley begs them to.

But I think, in a way, I might have changed a bit too. I don't know whether that's because I have Liv by my side or due to the few conversations with Adelaide I've had or the one with Grandpa - maybe even that one with _Isabella Thicknesse_ of all people. Nonetheless, something inside me has shifted. Something that's made me realise I really shouldn't give people like Sarah Fancourt the satisfaction of blowing up again. Something that's made me both apologise and thank others where I wouldn't before and has made me think about concepts such as friendship beyond Liv Creevey.

"I was just laughing because you're so - _you_," Freddie explains. "Offering me help because my muttering was distracting you, I mean."

Not quite sure what he means by this, I lift my right shoulder in a shrug. "Well, you _were_."

"Right. Well, if it helps, I didn't mean to. So, er - are you still willing to help me out? I really am hopeless at Herbology."

* * *

Freddie and I run into each other again the next day before lunch when Crazy Ste Spinnet marches up to me, spitting fire.

"CHAMBERLAIN!" he roars, throwing his arm out to block my way. Drawing my eyebrows together in annoyance, I tilt my head back to get a better look at him. He towers a foot above me, reaching an impressive 6 ft 3. "I need a word with you."

"And I need lunch."

"Do not _test _me, Chamberlain," he spits. The veins in his arms bulge when he tenses. "You need to go to McGonagall and tell him to get Weasley off probation or else."

"Or else what?" I challenge, stepping forward, the epitome of unfazed.

Inside, though, my mind is whirring as I process his words. Freddie's on probation? And I have something to do with it? How is that even possible. . . unless it's one of his punishments. The other day when I was called into McGonagall's office to discuss the situation and receive an apology, she assured me that they were going to take measures to prevent it from happening to me. They even offered to to somehow make sure that we're not in the same classes anymore before I declined, saying that I've managed to survive so far and that it'd be too much hassle anyway. I never realised that they put him on probation.

Crazy Ste Spinnet stares me down. His free hand travels to his pocket where it grips his wand and he puffs his chest out, as if to assert his manliness. "Listen here. I don't give a _shit _about what went on between you and Weasley. What the bloke does off the pitch isn't any of my business unless it affects the team. Until the other day, _you didn't affect the team._ But guess what? Now you do. That means now you're my business. And do you want to know how I deal with my shit?"

Before he can enlighten me, however, there's a cry of "Ste!" and then there's a hand on his chest that pushes him back. Dark eyes seek out mine before Freddie turns back to his captain.

"Weasley, get the fuck off me." I've heard all about Ste's reputation - you can't live in this castle and _not _\- and how he's terrifying when he gets worked up. When he's calm before the storm, however, it's actually pretty funny. "You've done enough."

Regret flashes across his face. "Yeah, _I _did it. Stay away from Lyss."

"Well, when 'Lyss' goes to McGonagall and tells her to get you off probation, then I'll stay away from 'Lyss'. Until then, 'Lyss' isn't going to run away from this."

The sound of Freddie's nickname for me on his spiteful tongue goes through me. I grit my teeth and open my mouth to respond with a venomous retort before I recall my resolution to not seek a fight. Reluctantly, I swallow my anger.

"Either way, McGonagall's not going to get me off probation," Freddie's saying quietly to him. "They've messed up badly. You think they're going to forget that so easily? Of course not, mate. Be glad that they didn't kick me off the team entirely."

"YOU'RE ON PROBATION FOR THE REST OF THE FUCKING YEAR."

"I'm still on the team."

"For fuck's sake," he cries loudly, spinning away from us, "you just couldn't hold off on the dramatics until I won the Cup for us!" Twisting back around viciously, he jabs a finger in my direction. "Alright, you don't have to go to McGonagall. But I swear to God, if we don't win this year,_ I will end you_."

"Alright, Ste." Freddie rolls his eyes.

"You too! I might have gotten a T in my Defence OWL, but I still know my shit."

With that dramatic declaration, the seventh year strides off, leaving us behind. Freddie turns to me apologetically with a small grimace on his lips.

"Er. I think I should've warned you about that."

"You think?" I raise an eyebrow.

He lets out a breathless laugh, right hand rising to cup the back of his neck. He takes a respectable step back and tries to stop a smile from pulling on the corners of his lips. "Yeah. Er, Ste's a bit - passionate about Quidditch. And has a flair for the dramatics."

"Yeah, I saw that." I run a finger over the edges of my snowflake charm. "So are you really on probation?"

Stupid. I am such an _idiot_. 'Are you really on probation?' Of course he is or this wouldn't have happened at all!

If he thinks it's as feeble a question as I do, he doesn't show it. His grimace returns. "Yeah. McGonagall told me on Saturday."

"You didn't mention that yesterday."

He shrugs. "Didn't come up."

I eye him curiously. After his show on Friday, I thought he might shout about his punishment from the rooftops just to show that he's reforming. But no, he continues to surprise me.

"Did you get anything else?"

"Yeah."

When he doesn't elaborate, I can't help but narrow my eyes at him in exasperation. Can't he answer a bloody question properly? "Well, what is it?"

"Er. Is this really necessary to ask? I mean, what good does it-"

"Answer the question, Weasley!"

"Okay, okay! So I have detention once a week until the term's over and my parents have been told about it. I got a howler from my mum the other night - it was full of very explicit and angry stuff - and. . . um, my - my sessions with Lavender are now compulsory. Once a week until 'the foreseeable future'." He hurls the last bit out quickly.

"Oh."

"Yeah."

"Who are your detentions with?"

He shrugs again. "I don't know, but I'm sure the castle will be spotless from here onwards."

"I don't see why you didn't want to tell me," I tell him. "If it was about the Lavender thing, well, I kinda assumed you'd be seeing her pretty regularly anyway. And detentions aren't exactly something new to you."

"I thought you didn't care."

"I don't," I say before I can think about it. Staring hard at a spot on the floor, I add, "But it doesn't hurt to know, especially if I'm going to find out through someone else like that."

"Alright, well, I'm sorry then."

"Stop saying that!" I burst out, snapping my head up to look at him again. I take a step forward, making him take an automatic step back and cross my arms over my chest fiercely. "You keep saying that as if it'll make a difference."

"Well, what else am I supposed to say? I'm bloody _British_. We say the word a lot!"

For a long second, I stare at him, not knowing what to respond to the statement with. And then, before I can help it, my shoulders start shaking and then I'm laughing, not quite sure why I find it so funny. He looks completely bewildered, but then breaks out into tentative chuckles, the awkward tension melting away.

"Am I not British then?" I say. "I mean, _I _don't say it much."

"You're Alyssa Chamberlain."

"Astute observation, Freddie. I see why they call you intelligent."

He rolls his eyes. Then, taking on a slightly more serious tone, he says, "I didn't tell you about the punishments because I didn't want to get you angry." At my questioning look, he adds, "Look, I know how much it annoyed you that people only started apologising after I told them to. Maybe it wasn't as bad as the people who called you a tease-" His jaw clenches. "-but I know you well enough to know what you think about people who take my word as law.

"The teachers should've realised that I was wrong years ago. They should've been on your side since day one and they weren't, not until I told them to be. And now they're calling out all the stops to make it up to you. I didn't want to remind you of that."

I consider this information. He's right, of course. I _have _been somewhat aggravated by their behaviour since it only came about after his display in the Great Hall.

"What if I ended up being angrier because I thought that they still weren't doing anything?" I challenge.

He smiles softly. "Then, I'm sure you would've given me hell and I would've told you anyway."

My eyebrows lift up as I appraise him. "So, what, do you have all of the answers now?"

No reply comes and I don't expect it to. Sensing that this conversation is at its end, I turn my back on him and begin to walk away, heading toward the Great Hall to the lunch I've delayed. By now, Liv will be worrying about my whereabouts - the girl's been paranoid ever since Friday - and the roast chicken will be dangerously low. Before I'm completely out of earshot, however, I throw a simple statement to the boy behind me:

"I'm not angry."

* * *

**AUTHOR'S NOTE: I am so sorry, I thought I had already uploaded this chapter here. Oops? But anyways, can I get a cheer from awkward endings that are born from a mixture of exam stress (this was written during my mocks) and writers block? Because you just read one and I genuinely have no idea how to make it better. It's CH2 all over again, people. Sigh. Sad times.**

**I know that this chapter was not supposed to have any arguments and to be honest, I don't really interpret any of it as tense. Neither of the girls were worked up, really, when Adelaide confessed how hurt she's been feeling and Ste was just being Quidditch-obsessed Crazy Ste Spinnet. This set of chapters ****_are_**** going to be more reflective than completely light hearted, but we're soon going to be squarely in the laidback ones. For example, the chapter I've just written has a****nice scene of James/Freddie/Alyssa friendship...stuff.**

**Coming up next: we find out Liv's secret (it's fairly obvious, I know that someone's definitely already guessed it) and the future is impending. Dun dun dun.**


	17. Greetings from Neverland

**17.**

_DO YOU WANT TO BE A HERO? COME AND SAVE LIVES EVERY DAY AT ST. MUNGO'S HOSPITAL!_

_LOVE THE GAME, BUT CAN'T PLAY IT? IT'S THE DEPARTMENT OF MAGICAL GAMES AND SPORTS FOR YOU!_

_SO YOU THINK YOU HAVE WHAT IT TAKES TO TAME DRAGONS._

The leaflets seem to scream at me from where they sit on the table. Today, Liv and I went into the common room to find people clamouring around the noticeboard. Rows of pamphlets hovered underneath them, all attempting to entice us into the careers they advertised. We grabbed a copy of each, even though we both know where we're going.

Currently, Liv has her nose buried in a simple white leaflet with an emblem of a black cauldron and vial stamped on it under the words 'MAKING IT AS A MEDICINAL POTIONEER'.

"What does it say?" I ask, leaning over to get a better look at its contents.

"Most of what I already know," she says with a small grimace. "Applicants are required to have a minimum of four NEWTs, preferably five, and two of them have to be Potions and Herbology - Medical Magic is encouraged but not compulsory. I have to get an O in those two and Es in the rest. Not to mention the fact that I need to get my M.I.C.E Qualifications."

I wince sympathetically. "Brutal."

"Mhm. And I have to have done at least fifty hours of volunteer work in a hospital before I apply. Well, there's one of my summers gone."

"I'll join you," I say, picking up a red apple and biting into it. "Most of the Ministry ones recommend to have been an intern at some point because it might give us a bigger chance to be hired. If we do our volunteering at the same time, we can meet up for lunch or something since we'll both be in London. It'll have to be the summer after sixth year though since I'll need an Apparition license. No way in hell am I travelling on the Knight Bus every day."

Liv nods understandingly. "Do you know what department you're considering?"

"No, not really. Pass me the leaflets and we'll check them out."

She pushes a bunch of bright purple pamphlets in between us and picks the top one up, reading out loud: "The Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures. Hmm."

"Well, that sounds awful," I remark. "Don't you need to have taken Care of Magical Creatures for that?"

"No, it's just recommended. But it says that workers will need to be 'gifted at public speaking and communicating with others. We at the DRCMC pride ourselves on our pragmaticism and charisma, essential qualities when dealing with other species.'" She allows herself a cheeky grin. "Well, we both know that you don't know the meaning of charismatic."

"Shut up," I say mildly.

"But you are _amazing _when it comes to communication skills. People just seem to get you so well."

"Once again: shut up. Here, look at this one. It's the Department of International Magical Cooperation."

Liv grimaces. "Ugh, it sounds so boring. Honestly, you'd be wasting yourself away there, Lyssa. Mum's friend works there and she's completely miserable."

"Is this the one whose husband walked out on her recently?"

"Yeah, because of the strain that her job put on their relationship! They were working her overtime for a job that she already hates and their marriage was suffering from it a lot."

"That doesn't make it right," I argue with a frown. Just because someone gets _bored_ doesn't mean they can abandon their partner, someone they swore themselves to for life. "You have to work at these things."

"I didn't think he _was _right," she says. "Honestly, he was a bit of a prick. Thought he was the best thing since sliced bread just because he trained the Kenmare Kestrels for a few years. But the point still stands: DIMC is a no go. Besides, it requires charisma too."

"You know, for my best friend, you have such little faith in how professional I can be."

"It's what I do best." She claps a hand on my back.

Since we have History of Magic first, I leave the pamphlets for now and focus on eating some breakfast, idly putting spoonful after spoonful of porridge into my mouth. Liv continues to pour over hers despite knowing all the information it has to offer anyway. She finally stows it away when it's time to get to lesson.

"It's getting real now," she says as we walk amongst the steady stream of students trickling out of the Great Hall. She links arms with me so we can stick together. "We're growing up."

She's right. Before we woke up today, we were still alright with sticking our heads in the sand and ignoring the future. Now, there's no way around it. We have to think about the next step and where it might lead us. After this year, there's only two short years left in this castle. The thought of that is daunting. Even though I've had more than my share of unpleasant experiences here, it's still been _home _to me. A gateway to a better life.

"I don't know about you, but I still feel fifteen," I say, shaking the thoughts off.

"It's just crazy," she exclaims. "I mean, think about it. My _dad_ was in this position once, thinking about what to do with the rest of his life, not knowing what would happen. He must be so different from then."

"Meanwhile, my mum was doing her GCSEs," I say, trying to picture another prettier version of myself in Cell Block A. Dressed in a black skirt and a white blouse, the school's characteristic olive green blazer thrown over her shoulders. "I don't even know which ones she took. All I know is that she took Childcare in college."

It suddenly hits me that, at this stage of life, Mum was only three short years away from being a mother. The thought of that happening to me is _terrifying._ No way would I want to have a baby less than a year after I leave Hogwarts.

"I don't want to grow up," I declare.

We arrive outside of the History of Magic classroom. Seeing the door open, Liv tugs me in and we settle in seats toward the back, away from the window from which a cold draft seeps in through. Looks like we're going to keep our cloaks on this lesson.

"And we won't," she says with a mischievous smile. "You and I are going on a date tonight, Miss Alyssa Chamberlain."

"We are?"

"Yes, we are."

"There's only one problem, Miss Olivia Creevey. I'm a hard girl to impress so you're going to have to go all out on this date of ours. I don't want it to be _good _or even _great_ \- I'm expecting something so profoundly amazing that I come back begging for more."

She smiles slowly, but the intrigued voice that speaks isn't hers. "Sorry, you're doing what?" comes Adelaide's question as she drops into the seat in front of us.

"Going on a date," Liv says easily, slinging an arm over my shoulder and yanking me close. I make a face and pull myself away. "It's going to be very romantic."

Freddie and James settle down next to Adelaide. He looks toward me as if making sure that I'm not about to Banish him across the room and then says, "Well, I hope you have a good time," when he find the answer he's looking for.

Liv's smile flickers before it's back in full force. "That means a lot. After all, we plan to elope in a couple of years."

"Oh?"

"Graduation night. We're still conflicted on which surname we're taking on."

Adelaide and Freddie let out small laughs. Their friend keeps his body facing forward, scribbling notes even though Binns hasn't started his lovely lecture yet. Their eyes flicker to me for a reply.

I clear my throat. "It's going to be Chamberlain. I'm the only kid in my family - someone needs to carry on the family name."

"True. I have been cursed with an idiotic brother who can carry on the Creevey line," Liv says, making a noise of agreement. "Liv Chamberlain it is, then!"

We quickly fall into silence when Binns drifts through the blackboard with his usual despondent expression. Before he has even finished the first sentence of his lecture in that delightful drone of his, most people have admitted defeat and are catching up on some much needed sleep.

I keep an ear out for the basic details of the topic today and make a note of it all on a bit of parchment. Fifth year is dedicated to the study of the most recent wars that ravaged our world. It starts off with an overall summary of what went on under Voldemort's ascent to power and then focuses on the First Wizarding War before moving onto the Second. We're still on the second part of the study and, seeing as we're only in the year 1975, have a few more weeks to go.

For the rest of the lesson, I doodle on the rest of the parchment, scrawling my name over and over again beside half-hearted sketches of buildings and people. Since art isn't one of my strengths, they come out looking like deformed blobs of ink.

Noticing what I'm doing, Liv leans over and scribbles _Long Live Liv Creevey_ onto a corner.

_Ew. No._

_Um, yes?_

_Write on your own parchment, Creevey, _I scrawl and then cross out her first message, causing her to gasp in horror. She snatches it off me.

_LONG LIVE LIV CREEVEY, LONG LIVE LIV CREEVEY, LONG LI-_

"Give that back," I grunt, reaching for it desperately.

She holds it high above her head, taking advantage of the fact that I'm too short and too lazy to get up from my seat to grab it. "Never," she declares in a furious whisper.

I give her a filthy glare and elbow her in the side.

She winces, but doesn't relinquish her hold. Instead, she turns to look me dead in the eye and then whispers, "Long Live Liv Creevey."

My answering smile is nothing short of venomous, though there's no real feeling behind it. "Liv Creevey won't be living for long if she doesn't give me my parchment back."

"Ooh. Sassy."

Her smug smile makes me both want to laugh and bash my head in. As much as I love the girl, she can be so annoying sometimes. Judging from the way her smile only widens, I can safely say that she's well aware of it.

Before I can stealthily pounce on her - we _are _still in a lesson, after all - she scrunches the stolen parchment up and promptly hits James on the back of the head with it. I stare at her in bewilderment - what on _earth _is she doing? James seems to be thinking something similar because when he turns around, his expression is just as baffled as mine, although substantially more irritated too.

"_What?" _he hisses.

"Why are you ignoring us?" she asks conversationally, leaning forward on her elbows. "Adelaide's talking to us." She allows herself to pause for a beat before she adds, "Freddie's talking to us. But you're not, even though you apologised the other day. Care to explain why?"

"Is this really the time? I'm trying to listen to Binns."

No one listens to Binns.

Liv snorts in amusement. "No one listens to Binns, James. Not unless they're ignoring someone."

"Alright then, I'm ignoring someone."

Liv crosses her legs neatly under the desk and fixes him with a curious look. She looks almost like a little girl trying to play detective. "But _why_?"

James looks at her. She looks back at him. By this point, Adelaide and Freddie have heard their muttered exchange too so the three of us watch them, half-intrigued, half-mystified. Adelaide catches my eye and mouths _what's going on? _Not having an answer for that, I just shrug.

"I have my reasons," is all James finally says. "And they're personal so I don't think I'm going to share any of them with you."

I raise an eyebrow at that. Though the statement is technically delivered pleasantly, James is still. . . _cattier_ than usual. His best friends don't seem surprised by that, but Liv is. She doesn't say anything about it, however, and simply asks him to pass back the parchment. Wordlessly, he obliges and then turns back to face the front to 'listen to Binns' once again.

Liv only smooths out the parchment and neatly writes the words: _he still doesn't have his camera?_

* * *

The sun has already sank in the sky and night is descending. A blanket of navy has fallen over us, one with twinkling lights scattered across it, as if someone has grabbed a handful of glitter and thrown it up in the air. A brisk wind hurtles through the mountains -and tries to barge its way into the castle yet I remain perched on one of the windowsills, wrapped up in one of the throws Grandpa gave me for my bed.

It's far from silent in the dormitory. Mirabelle Smith and Little Emma Evans have invited one of the girls from the other dormitory over, Haven Kowalski, and reluctantly beckoned me over five minutes ago at Adelaide's behest. Of course, I refused, but I think they were all expecting that anyway.

I drag my eyes away from the scenery and pen the last words of my letter back home, chewing on the lid.

_I don't really know what to do. I mean, it's actually quite easy to get a job in the Ministry if you have the basic OWLs and NEWTs (which I will have) so it's not completely necessary to think too hard about it. It's not like being a medicinal potioneer where you need to do loads of research into the job. You just. . . apply, I suppose. If there's a post available, anyway. I guess I just want to be certain of which departments I might go into, just because I like knowing things. I'm sending along copies of the leaflets for you to look through and give your opinions on._

_That's it for now, I guess._

_Love,_

_Alyssa xo_

I blow on the ink so it dries and then roll the letter up into a scroll, tap it with my wand to seal it and put it to the side. Picking up the leaflets that I plan to send, I flick through them once again. _The Department of Magical Law Enforcement, The Department of International Magical Cooperation. . . _Interestingly enough, there's no leaflet that advertises the Department of Mysteries.

All of the leaflets beside me are just the general jobs in each department. Some of the departments contain more specialised jobs and, curious about them, I wave my wand and summon them to me, flipping through the different jobs.

_IF YOU REMEMBER HOW TO CAST A MEMORY CHARM, THE OBLIVIATOR SQUAD MIGHT BE THE PLACE FOR YOU_

_HIT THE BOOKS AND BECOME A HIT WIZARD!_

_ASPIRING TO BE AN AUROR? FIND OUT WHAT YOU NEED TO FIGHT CRIME AND SAVE LIVES_

After pouring over them all, still absently chewing on my pen lid, I decide that I actually wouldn't mind being on the Department of Magical Accidents and Catastrophes in the future. I might not know how to cast a Memory Charm yet, but the thought of working in some of the other jobs brings a grin to my face. There's no doubt that a Muggleborn will _exceed _in the Muggle-Worthy Excuse Committee.

With an easy flick of my wand, most of the leaflets are Banished back to my bedside table and I pick up the rest, deciding to send off my letter now. Standing up, I contemplate whether I should keep on my throw, wondering whether or not I'll look _too _idiotic, before the need to stay warm wins over the need to look fashionable. I secure it, pick up my letter and then shuffle toward the door.

Adelaide looks up at the sound. "Oh, are you leaving?"

In response, I hold up what's in my hand. "Owlery."

"Alright, then. See you later."

She returns to the others with a smile and immerses herself in their conversation once again. Recently, Adelaide has been making a conscious effort to be friendlier and for a reason I don't quite understand, I've been letting her. Something about our conversation that day makes me feel inexplicably _guilty_ and when I think back to her hurt words, I can't help but think of how disappointed my family might be with me if they heard them.

None of it makes sense to me. Not really. I don't know why I'm making an effort now when I don't usually care. For once, though, I'm not going to fight it. Still, I don't plan on completely changing my personality so that I can adhere to whatever Hogwarts really wants off me - no fucking _way_ is that happening. People can take me as I am and if that's not enough for them, tough luck.

James Potter's face comes to mind.

The owlery is almost completely devoid of human life when I enter, the only occupant being none other than Molly Weasley. But of _course_ it's her - I swear to God, the Weasleys breed like rabbits. They're _everywhere._

When I enter, she offers me nothing more than a cursory glance at first, untying the package from the owl perched on the windowsill next to her. As I'm approaching one of the school owls, however, she speaks.

"Chamberlain, isn't it? The one Freddie fancies enough to make a fool of himself?"

I keep my eyes fixed on the amber ones of the owl in front of me. "Yes."

"Did Aunt Angie write to you yet?" she asks. Her footsteps are loud against the castle floor on account of the heels of her boots; I can hear the way she approaches me like a lioness with a gazelle. "I heard she was planning to write to you."

"She did."

I received the letter the day after Freddie mentioned he received a Howler. Unlike his, it was full of nothing but sympathy and was almost overwhelming in the apologetic touch to it. Apparently, Angelina Weasley is a woman who thought she raised her son right and is mortified to know that her perceptions were wrong. Consequently, she told me very sincerely that if anything were ever to bother me again, she was willing to listen and would not hesitate to punish Freddie if necessary.

_Oh, and don't worry about the press, _she concluded. _Ginny has made sure that anyone who gets a whiff of this keeps their mouth shut so no one will bother you about it._

"Nice woman, isn't she? She was absolutely horrified to find out that her one and only son admitted to - well, you know. We all were."

"You've all seen him kiss me," I accuse, concentrating on my fingers as they tie the letter and leaflets around the proffered leg of the owl. "That doesn't make any sense."

"Yeah, but it all seemed like banter at the time. Something innocent. Anything short of rape or copping a feel somewhere off-limits isn't taught as _wrong_ in our world."

"Maybe it should be."

When I finally face her, a slow smug smile is spreading across her face. "Well, I'm sure that when that's no longer true, we'll probably have Freddie to think for that." Catching my confused look, she smirks. "You don't think he's going to stop, is he? Now that he's landed himself in detention and on probation? Honey, I don't think you realise how determined Weasleys can be, especially that one. Now that Freddie has gotten himself a conscience - a horrible decision, mind you, they've never been good for anything as far as I'm concerned- he's not going to give up until his existential crisis is well over. And that's not happening anytime soon unless he's made change - _real change._"

"So, what? He feels so bloody guilty that he's just going to casually change the way the entire wizarding world thinks now? That's not how life _works._ People don't do that. They _can't_ do that."

"Well, he's damn well going to try."

I don't say anything, only remove my hand from the school owl, watch it fly up into the air and soar out of the window. When my gaze falls back on the seventh year, she's closer than before.

"Tell your friend I expect my batch this weekend." She changes the topic abruptly.

"My what? Your what?"

"Your friend. You know, Liv Creevey? Great at Potions? Tell her that I expect my batch of the Draught of Peace this weekend. I'll drop by your dormitory with the money."

With that, she promptly turns on her heel and _click clacks_ out of the Owlery. For a moment, I stand there, clinging tight to my throw before I shrug off the encounter and decide it's high time to meet with Liv down in the dungeons. At least now I know why she's down there all the time.

Not many people pass me in the corridors, most of them probably holed up in their common room besides roaring fires, and the few that are out ignore me for the most part. For once, any strange looks that are sent my way revolve around my attire and not _me._

When I step foot in the dungeons, I'm convinced that I made the right decision wearing it since they're even chillier than the rest of the castle. A tug of the bright throw wraps it tighter around me and I shuffle along the corridor until I reach Dungeon Nine.

I throw the door open with an unceremonious _bang. _The thunderous clap shocks the two people in the room; as my eyes adjust to the gloom, I notice that Liv's not alone - she's with a _boy._ And I'm pretty certain that they were standing _much _closer before I made my grand entrance.

"Lyssa!" Liv exclaims, her voice an octave higher than usual. She steps closer to her cauldron almost nervously. "What are you doing here?"

I appraise the two of them. "Just came to hang out with my best friend," I reply, my eyes sweeping over the bloke purposefully as I stress the last two words. "I didn't know you had company. I'll come back later."

Liv's. . . friend looks across the room and meets my critical gaze, cheeks a faint pink. He looks pretty familiar, a face that I recognise but can't quite put a name to. Something about the golden crown of curls on his head and his delicate features makes me think that I've seen him about quite recently too. In an instant, it comes to me: he's one of the boys that Isabella Thicknesse stays with.

"No, it's alright," he says with a cordial smile. "I should be getting back. I'm supposed to be meeting up with the guys 'round about now."

A forlorn look passes over Liv's face. She reaches her hand out toward him, then thinks better of it. She murmurs, "I'll see you later, then."

When he smiles at her, it's much more sincere. There's a certain crookedness to it that I just _know _Liv likes. "See you in Potions."

He's in our Potions?

He leaves the room without another word, nodding in farewell to me as he passes. The door carefully shuts behind him, leaving just me and a guilty-looking Liv Creevey carefully avoiding my eyes. I sigh and move over to where she is, drawing out a seat and plopping myself in it.

"I talked to Molly Weasley in the owlery," I say.

"Oh?"

"She said she expects her batch this weekend. I didn't know you worked with her. I thought it was just a one-off deal."

She shrugs. "She pays well."

I don't doubt that for a second. The Weasleys might not be rolling in money, but they're more than comfortable since the adults are all in pretty good positions in their jobs - the créme de la créme of the Ministry, successful business owners, renowned cursebreakers etc. Not for the first time, I envy them. If only my family could be so lucky.

When neither of us seem to be approaching the elephant in the room, I finally give in. "Is this what was bothering you the other day? The fact that you've got a secret boyfriend?"

So much blood flushes into her face that I'm surprised her head doesn't explode. "Hayden isn't my secret boyfriend. We're _friends._ That share an interest in Potions."

"So that's his name. Hayden."

She sends me an exasperated look. "He's in our Potions class, Lyssa. And in my Care of Magical Creatures and Muggle Studies."

"I'm not very good with names. I know that he's Isabella Thicknesse's friend, though. . . Hey, is _that_ why she suddenly took an interest in my life? Because she knows you've been sneaking around with her best mate?"

"_We haven't been sneak _\- I don't know. Maybe she thought that she should try to be closer to you just in case something _did _\- arise from my friendship with Hayden."

"I knew there was something off about her," I say in vicious triumph. There's no way some random Slytherin can suddenly develop an interest in me. Something about the insincerity of her advice stings, though; I can't believe I've actually been listening to it even if it's only because it happens to align with my own resolution. "There's no way someone can be that nice for no reason."

Liv frowns at me over the steam drifting up from her cauldron. "She's actually a really good person. You'd get along with her really well."

"Yeah, for the sake of you and _Hayden._ A relationship that apparently the Slytherins know about, but I don't."

She stares frustratedly at the simmering potions in front of her before spinning to face me properly and abandoning it. "It wasn't like that, Lyssa. You've - you've had a lot on your plate recently and I didn't want you to feel like I was abandoning you for someone else. I know that you don't have - don't have many - friends so-"

"Out of my own choice. I don't _want _to befriend half the idiots here."

"Not everyone's that horrible, Lyssa. I know that a lot of people have been _disgusting_ to you recently so I don't blame you for feeling that way, but some people are nice. Like Hayden. And Isabella."

Her attempt at seeming casual doesn't fool me. I accuse, "You fancy him."

She turns even redder. "Maybe I do. It doesn't mean anything. Nothing to get angry over."

I stare at her in bewilderment. "You think I'm - you think I'm _angry? _Why on earth would I be angry? Just because I don't put much stock in boys or dating doesn't mean I expect you to be the same!"

"I didn't. . . Are you serious?"

"Of course. I don't control your life, Liv. You can date whoever you want. Unless he's hurts you - then I'll have to murder him. That goes without saying."

Laughing in relief, she launches herself at me and pulls me in for a tight hug. Shocked, I sit there, not able to process how she managed to fling herself so quickly, but then relax and wrap my arms around her too. She steps back with a huge grin.

"That wasn't the whole reason why I didn't tell you, but it's a relief to hear. I really want you to like Hayden, even if we're not actually together. Oh my God, I can _finally_ fangirl about him to someone! You would not believe how _blue_ his eyes are, Lyssa. They're like - like the eyes of _Adonis_."

I roll my eyes. "If you insist."

Beaming at me, she grabs at my hand. "Please don't be annoyed with me for keeping quiet about it. The only reason Isabella and the others know about it is because Hayden's not too bothered about who knows. I just - it's one of those things that you just want to keep to yourself, you know? Like you with the charm bracelet."

My smile slides off my face. I glance down at the gift in question, watch it gleam like molten silver in the dim lighting. Before I can help myself, I blurt out the truth.

"I never bought the charms."

Part of me expects Liv's forehead to crinkle in confusion. Her eyebrows to furrow and her smile to slip off, uncertainty to twist her facial features. What I don't expect is for her to beam.

"Oh, I know."

"You _know_?"

"Of course I know. When did you guess it was Freddie?"

My mind is still behind a couple of seconds. Slack-jawed, I stare at her. "Wait, you _knew _it was Freddie?"

Liv rolls her eyes. "Do you really think that an eleven year old boy would know what to get a girl? Fair enough, he saw the charm bracelet first, but he recruited the rest of us to help him choose the first charm."

"Wait - what, _how _is that even - 'us'?" I splutter. "Adelaide and James know too? _Everyone_ but me knows?"

No longer smiling, she nods. "Yeah. It's no big deal, of course. We just thought it was your pride getting in the way of thanking Freddie so we kept quiet about it. I wanted to talk to you about it for ages, but Freddie insisted we shut up. He said that if the two of you talked about it out loud, you wouldn't wear it anymore."

"I - Liv, I didn't even _know _it was him until this year when he didn't send a charm!"

It's her turn to look shocked. "What? I thought you knew from the start or second year at least. I mean, he had long conversations with you about the charms before he bought them. You guys talked for _ages _about how much you loved snow and he got you a snowflake after he found out that it hadn't snowed where you live in second year. When he first kissed you, you chucked _Hogwarts: A Complete History_ at him and later argued about whether it was interesting or not and he got you the charmed version of it. And-"

"I get it," I interrupt, feeling oddly sick. I can't believe I deluded myself into thinking that my dad was a wizard and actually _gave a shit_ about me while everyone else knew the truth and probably thought that I was a complete imbecile. "I get it."

Liv bends down so she can meet my eyes properly. Her voice is oddly soft when she says, "Who did - who did you think it was, Lyssa?" When I don't answer, she does it herself. "Was it - _him?_ Your dad?"

"I'm an idiot, I know. Don't have to tell me twice."

She wraps me up in another hug, her soft brown hair tickling my cheek. "No, you're not. It wasn't stupid to wish that it had been him. Don't be ashamed of that."

For the first time in years, my eyes burn at the thought of him. I recall a little girl standing in her primary school's toilets, watching a picture burn to cinders in her hands, not wondering how it was possible, just concerned with getting rid of every trace of his fake love.

"He left. He didn't - he didn't _want _me. I was stupid to think that he might actually have a heart and want to make me feel like he did. God, I haven't even _seen _him since I was six."

"That doesn't matter," she says firmly. "It's okay that you had a little faith, even it was misplaced. You're not unbreakable, Lyssa. None of us are."

"Yeah, well, I want to be."

"You can't. We might be witches, but we're still human. There's no changing that. But do you know what you can do? You can remember that you, Alyssa Chamberlain, are one _amazing _girl and you don't _need _him. He was the one that lost out when he walked away, not you. Because you still have people who love you: your mum, your uncle, your grandparents. Me. And I know that things aren't the best with them, but Adelaide and James love you too. And so does Freddie. He has a _lot _to answer to, but there's no denying that the bloke cares for you. So remember that."

And for once in my life, such a thought doesn't scare me.

* * *

**DISCLAIMER: The title of the chapter is inspired by _Greetings from Califournia_ by the NBHD. Also, Medical Magic is a subject I've borrowed from Branwen/Beeezie/abhorsen's Next Gen 'verse :)  
**

**AUTHOR'S NOTE: Hello mi loves, I have returned with another chapter of this fic! Thank the lord that I've written a couple of chapters ahead of what's being posted because I've hit writers' block and I'm struggling to get past it on both CH6 of Dormitory 2.6A and KMLASTD. I've also incidentally started a third WIP that's actually set in the same world as this - has anyone ever wondered why James always carries a camera? Well, _Kaleidoscopic _tells it all. Never fear though, it's last on my priority list. Now, I'm off to revise and try to write these bloody chapters. As always, lemme know your thoughts in the review box below! :)**

**This is dedicated to everyone who has reviewed the past few chapters because you guys do keep me going: Guest (you'll know who you are), Melya Liz, offermyheart (your reviews made me laugh so much), ginnyweasly22, Saamiya, C.B. Weasley and Psychotic Demonic Angel. And an extra special shoutout to Melya Liz who seems to have reviewed most, if not all, the chapters and actually made a graphic in honour of this fic. So sweet! xo**


	18. Equilibria

**WARNING! WARNING! WARNING!**

**If any readers of 'Kiss My Lips &amp; Swear to Die' are ****_also _****keeping track of 'Kaleidoscopic' (the story of the James Sirius in this universe) t****his chapter contains a HUGE spoiler for it.**** As in the size of Optimus Prime. 'Kaleidoscopic' spans years while Kiss My Lips spans ****_a _****year so there is some overlap and consequently SPOILER CITY has just been built. Read on at your own cost.**

**(It's huge!)**

* * *

"No fucking _way_."

Sunsets are a blend of warmth across the sky. There are glorious streaks of gold amongst cool clouds, nothing more than soft sighs expelled into the frigid air, and a deep copper hue that has come out to play with the icy wind. There is us, that is to say Liv and I, perched on the little overhang at the top of the Astronomy Tower with hot mugs of coffee in our hands and there is apparently James Potter on the ground, barely discernable due to the distance.

Liv has been gushing about Hayden Grimm for the past ten minutes, fully taking advantage of the fact that I now know she has a crush on him. Like a good friend, I've been listening to her, my eyes absently studying the view, but when I say "no fucking _way_," it's not because of what she's said.

"Yes way!" she exclaims, smacking her thigh enthusiastically. "His eyes _genuinely _turn really dark, like a really stormy grey, whenever I say something that he finds funny or cute and he just looks _so_-"

"That's not what I mean," I cut her off with a series of small slaps on her arm to get her attention. I point toward the figure on the ground. "It's _James_."

"Who cares about James when we can talk about Hay - _ oh my God_."

Because right now, there is us and there is a stunning sunset and there is James Potter on the ground, capturing the image of the sky on his camera.

Let that sink in.

James has his camera.

"Contact _Witch Weekly,_" Liv breathes, staring him down. He's far enough to not be able to see much, but close enough to be able to see the way he raises his arms and points an object heavenward, an action familiar enough to us to know what it is in his hands. "James Sirius Potter is back."

/

It's as if a switch has been flicked. One day, both Freddie and James are subdued, quietly taking notes in History of Magic, drifting through the school without the loud exuberance that once followed them around. The next day, there's a familiar strap around James' neck and the two of them are playing a hushed game of Exploding Snaps in the back of the classroom - or they're trying to at least.

"Can the two of you _put those cards away?_" snaps Professor Chang abruptly, cutting off in the middle of her lecture about transfiguring inanimate objects into animate ones.

Almost instantly, everyone's head swivels around to stare at the misbehaving boys. They're frozen, looking at her in shock, as if they're not quite sure how they've been caught. Then, Freddie's card slowly slips out of his hand and lands on the pile of cards with a sudden BANG.

Several people scream.

Jolting in my seat, I peer at the boys through the smoke that quickly clears away to find them in the exact same position, only with singed eyebrows.

"Get out."

The deadly command, whispered after ten seconds of strained silence, sets everyone off. A huge eruption of laughter passes through the room, sending off the cousins with a different kind of bang and the door shuts on their sheepish grins. Even I'm joining in on it, the image of their shell-shocked faces too comical to brush off.

"The idiots," Liv says fondly to me as Professor Chang leaves the classroom to lecture them. "I don't know what they think they're doing by playing Exploding Snaps in Chang's class."

"You said it yourself." I shrug. "They're idiots."

She grins before her expression becomes a little more serious. Lowering her voice, she says, "It's all a bit weird, though, isn't it? I mean, two days ago, James was still really. . ."

"Depressed?"

"Yeah. And Freddie was still being a bit cautious, you know, because everything that happened. And now it's like nothing's changed. James has his camera back and they're messing around in class again. It's _weird_."

I nod in agreement. The change is so abrupt, so jarring and it's leaving most of our heads reeling. To have the Golden Boys sombre for weeks ever since we returned and then have them slide on their masks from before, resume their roles in the Hogwarts hierarchy - well, it's unnerving to say the least. And it's even stranger how all of this seems to be due to James. Until James decided that he liked photography again, Freddie was still _off_ despite going back out there with his usual confidence. But now that his best friend seems to have gotten his act together, there's something genuine about his smile and behaviour.

What's stranger still is that I feel like I can breathe properly again.

What happened with them shouldn't affect me in such a way - in fact, I despise the fact that it does - but it has. I never knew what to do with a Freddie Weasley that wasn't sure of himself, so now that both him and James seem to be back to normal, it feels like I can be too.

Professor Chang reenters the classroom with the boys hot on her heels, carefully avoiding each other's eyes. There's an expression on their faces that suggests they've been yelled at so severely that they'll burst out laughing if they glance at each other, landing them in a situation that's even worse. They don't even say anything as a couple of people cheer in congratulations or when Chang confiscates their deck.

Heaving a sigh, she sits down on her desk and smoothes down the lilac robes she's donning before she fixes us with a tired, unamused look.

"You guys think this is funny, do you?" she asks softly. The dangerous tone snaps everyone back onto their best behaviour. "Playing Exploding Snaps in my lesson - which, by the way, I don't know how on _earth _you thought you would get away with - and encouraging such behaviour by cheering? This is _not acceptable_. I do not come in here five days a week and spend my time teaching you the syllabus, giving support sessions, marking essay after essay just so you can mess around and end up with a T! I might be getting paid for it, but money isn't why I teach: I teach because I genuinely enjoy it. Because it's worth seeing my efforts pay off when my students get Es and Os. Messing around won't get you that."

"Technically, I'm averaging an O/E-"

In an uncharacteristically unprofessional manner, Chang looks at James and says, "For your own good, do shut up."

He blinks in shock.

Can you even speak like that to a student?

"Your exams begin in late May. We're in February. You have roughly fourteen weeks, give or take a couple. That's fourteen weeks to cover three years' worth of knowledge and that's not even taking into account what you learnt in your first two years here since you should know that like the back of your own hand. And we _still _have some material we need to learn. If you don't want to fail, you _need _to put your heads down now - whether or not you're averaging an O/E. Some people aren't as lucky to be doing that, Mr Potter. Quite frankly, your behaviour is selfish."

Her words are intended to make everyone pause to think about how much they need to buckle down. It's not working for more than a few people - I can see eyerolls all around the classroom - but they hit home with me. Suddenly, I feel like I'm not doing enough work, that I need to be spending at least another hour each day to get the grades I want. On average, I work for about four hours each day and it tends to vary depending on my workload - some days, I'll only do a couple of hours while on others, I'll easily do five if I have homework to complete. But surely that can't be enough? I think I remember reading somewhere that Hermione Weasley averaged at about seven hours a day during the bulk of her revision and she came out with nearly perfect grades.

I guess it's a good thing I don't have a great social life, then.

After Chang has stared at us for a full two minutes to further impress the reminder on us, she launches back into the lecture, leading a much more sombre class than before. When we're let out, the first things I can hear are outraged murmurs about her audacity.

"All they did was liven up the class a bit - honestly, the sixth years weren't lying when they said the teachers were buzzkills this year!"

"I can't _believe _she went off on one like that!"

As we follow the crowd to the Great Hall for lunch, Liv links arms with me and starts a similar conversation. "Woah. Chang's reaction was so unexpected. What d'you make of it?"

I shrug. "She has a fair point. I wouldn't like to be in her position and have students playing Exploding Snaps in my lessons."

Before she can reply, however, a new voice pops into the conversation. "Yeah, but we already know what she's talking about."

I spin around immediately, causing Liv to yelp and bash into the wall as I take her with me. Freddie, Adelaide and James are standing behind us, having apparently been on our heels all this time. The latter studies his camera, ignoring us.

"Eavesdropping on our conversation?"

"You were talking about us," Freddie says with a small shrug.

There's a look in his eyes, however, that has the faintest traces of uncertainty, as if he's not quite sure whether I'll dropkick him if he ever does it again - a silent question of whether this is okay. After a moment's thought, I simply respond with a nod. I don't even know why I do it. Probably because I'm curious about what he's going to do for once or maybe because life without a boisterous Freddie Weasley and James Potter annoying me is a concept I can't yet grasp.

I turn back and carry on walking to the Great Hall. Liv follows suit after a second, rubbing her arm.

"Oh sure," she murmurs. "Injure and abandon me. What a wonderfully thoughtful person you are."

I smirk. "Don't be such a baby."

It seems that the trio have hung back to talk to each other because they're not with us when we enter the Great Hall and don't arrive until I'm digging into my salad and Liv is gleefully attacking her chocolate fudge - when I look at her, she mumbles something about savouring the good things first and living life on the edge. They seem to be making a beeline to where the Weasleys have decided to hold court today until Adelaide stops in her tracks, waves them ahead and promptly sits down in front of us. Liv and I freeze in mid chew.

Finally, Liv swallows and says, "If you want the chocolate fudge, you'll have to fight me to the death for it."

Adelaide laughs. "It's all yours. I thought I could have lunch with you if that's alright?"

My best friend looks at me. For what must be the tenth time today, I shrug in response. Though it's unexpected, we've been on alright terms with Adelaide. Maybe not to the extent where we used to easily sit with each other during lunch - not for the first time, I wonder how I was so oblivious to the fact that we spent so much of our time together - but well enough.

"Help yourself," I say.

"To everything but the chocolate fudge."

"To everything but the chocolate fudge," I echo with a decisive nod.

With that minor awkward moment over, it's plain sailing from then on. Liv and Adelaide hold up most of the conversation as per usual while I focus on my food, but they entice me into it with my opinion on so and so or this, that and the other. Finally, the conversation is brought back to Chang's rant when Adelaide lets out a forlorn sigh.

"I can't believe they did that. It's not even Freddie's set, it's _mine_. Now I'm going to have to steal his from their pigsty of a dormitory."

"What did you think of her lecture?" Liv asks curiously, now popping a forkful of jacket potato into her mouth. "It was so out of the blue, wasn't it?"

"Yeah, it was."

"Not really," I interject. "It's after Christmas. I bet all the teachers crack around about now - Chang's probably just the first."

Adelaide considers this with a thoughtful nod. "True. I remember that Dad always used to get a bit frazzled this time of year. May was always a nightmare."

"Still, it was kinda uncalled for. I mean, are you even allowed to tell a student to shut up?"

Liv brings up a good point to think about. Hogwarts has always maintained an aura of professionalism - while some students have a closer bond than usual to their teachers since they basically live with us for most of the year, there's still a certain formality in the interactions. Most refer to the students by "Mr" or "Miss" and we're supposed to call them "Professor".

It's a stark contrast to the stories Mum and Uncle Damien have told me about Cell Block A. Mum had a form tutor - a system we don't employ - who always used to tell people to shut up. He taught her in sixth form too and she discovered he also had a penchant for the word "shite" in the company of those older than sixteen. Muggle secondary schools seem a world away from us with their Smokers' Trees and silent detentions and teachers who get pissed on trips abroad, but I suppose we're all united in the sense that fifth years and Year Elevens all over the country are being told to cut the bullshit.

"What's up with James anyway?" I ask, cutting into their discussion about whether Chang can get into trouble for speaking to him like that.

Adelaide looks at me blankly. "Up with him?"

"You know what I mean. One day he seems to have just. . . given up and the next day, he's talking back to the teachers and has his camera again. What happened?"

Beside me, Liv lets out a small groan and swiftly kicks me in the shin.

I glare at her.

The blonde across the table abandons any pretence that she doesn't know what I'm talking about. Pushing her curls away from her face, she sighs, "You'll have to talk to him about it."

Yeah, not going to happen. I don't care _that _much about him to do that.

As if sensing the direction of my thoughts, she adds, "I think a talk with him is just what you need, actually. I mean, _we've _buried the hatchet." Here, she gestures to the two of us. "And you seem to be on okay terms with Freddie. It's just James that you haven't spoken to."

"Yeah, because James openly admitted to avoiding us," Liv pipes up.

"I know James. He just needs to talk it out with Alyssa. If they do that, any bad air will be cleared and everyone can go back to normal. Or some form of it anyway."

/

For the rest of the day, I forget about Adelaide's suggestion on speaking to James, mostly because I actually have important things to do. For example, the essay that Chang set us out of spite at the end of Transfig today or showering away the disgust after double Herbology was followed by a fun hour of Potions.

(Part of the disgust came from the physical aspects of the lessons - you know, the dirt that seemed to get everywhere, the slime from the Flesh Eating Slugs etc. The rest of it was induced by the heart eyes Hayden Grimm and Liv kept sending each other across the dungeon, myself and Isabella Thicknesse looking mutinous at the constant sickening displays.)

However, when I spot James trying to convince Madame Pince to let him take a few shots of her rearranging a bookshelf, Adelaide's words suddenly come back to me and I halt in my tracks on my way out of the library.

"I'm not trying to be cheeky, Madame," he says desperately. "Trust me, you have the _perfect _profile for it and you'll be completely in shadow so you don't have to be self-conscious about anything either-"

"The nerve of you!" she spits, standing up in her fury. She slams her hands down on her desk, sending her ink pellets rolling onto the floor. "I don't care who your father is, you are to get out of my library before I kick you out!"

He splutters in protest. "What - but it's a _compliment _\- I -"

Before he can land himself in any more trouble, I roll my eyes and grab him by the elbow. He falls silent, jerking around to look at me in shock and remains like that as I drag him out of the library, far away from the beast that Pince can be. It's not until we reach the stairs that he suddenly remembers he has control over his body because he skids to a stop, yanks his elbow back and speaks.

"What on earth was that for?"

"For saving you from getting a smackdown by Pince," I respond, raising an eyebrow.

He flushes, muttering, "I was fine. I was wearing her down."

"Yeah. You were wearing down her _self-restraint_. Another moment and she would've hit you with the stack of books on her desk."

He doesn't say anything before mumbling, "Whatever," and staring down at the faded strap of his camera again. It hits me out of nowhere that it's his nervous habit, what he does whenever he's confronted by something he doesn't particularly want to face, just like me with my charm bracelet.

"How come you're back to taking photos anyway? I thought you'd stopped."

I pose the question casually, as if I don't really care and I suppose a bit of me doesn't. But there's a much larger part of me that is curious about why James' good mood, his change of heart and his charm is inextricably linked to his camera. What's so important about it?

For a long moment, I think he's going to ignore me, but just as I turn away to continue to the common room, he says, "I did stop. But I'm finding the motivation to pick it up again."

When I look at him, he's still staring hard at it, tracing the leather with his thumb.

Abruptly, it registers in my mind why people find him good looking - with the light hitting him at that angle, his hair seems to gleam a golden brown and his irises look like liquid sunlight, his sharp face caressed by the warmth from the lantern. It's the sort of image a photography nut like him wants to capture and stow away in a portfolio full of beautiful things. But it's not the physical beauty that seems to make this image - it's the slope of his shoulders that suggests he's been broken but is pushing back against the weight. It's the lack of a cheeky grin, an easy wink. Something much more vulnerable.

I don't like it.

The way these two boys are morphing into something more than their usual boisterous selves, more than their happiness and easygoing personalities, morphing into people who are more complex than I thought, more intriguing than I ever gave them credit for. Boys who make me want to ask questions I don't usually ask, ponder thoughts I usually push away, make me change into someone more than the Alyssa Chamberlain I am.

"Why did you stop in the first place?" I ask, regardless of my aversion to this change. It's as if I can't help myself. "I mean, everyone knows you love photography."

Finally, he looks up and it's like the spell is broken. He's still James Potter, but he's more serious now.

"Do you know why I like it so much?" When I shake my head, he says, "I do it because of Sage. Sage Macmillan."

The name brings nothing to mind, though I feel like I've heard it on his tongue before. He seems to realise this because he goes on to elaborate.

"Sage is my best friend. I grew up with her in Godric's Hollow and was probably closer to her than I was to Freddie, really. She's a great person, really lovely and a laugh too. For the first eleven years of our lives, she lied to me, though. She'd tell me all about how she made her dad's shoes shrink when she was pissed off at him, how she'd flooded the bathroom one day and how she could get the sweets jar from the top shelf of the cupboard. But she never did any of those things because she's a Squib."

I stare at him. Whatever I've been expecting, it's not this. And yet it all makes sense somehow. I can almost imagine a young James Potter picking out a vintage camera in a shop somewhere so he could capture Hogwarts in images and send them back to his best friend.

Dare I say it, it's almost. . . sweet.

"She wanted to come to Hogwarts more than anything in the world, but she couldn't - so I brought Hogwarts to her. I took shit photographs of the castle, of the grounds, of the Forbidden Forest. I captured the classes on camera, basically told her the story of my life through my photos."

"Wait, does that mean this girl, Sage, she knows who I am? She's seen my face?"

He nods. "Of course she does. You're a friend, aren't you? Or you were."

I ignore that bitter comment and ask, "So why did you stop then? If you've been doing it for so long, why stop now?"

He doesn't answer immediately but lets out a small exasperated laugh and sits down on the step above him. When all I do is continue to stare at him, he pats the bit next to him invitingly and I drop down. It seems that I've decided not to question my actions for the evening and to just let things go the way they go.

"You have really shit timing, you know?" he says with a broken laugh. "Confronting Freddie about what he's done - I get that it needed to be done, but I wish you'd done it some other time. We really did have a horrible holiday."

A part of me wants to inform him that life is horrible. It's the way it works and we just need to get used it. Telling Freddie then was essential to getting him to stop, bad holiday or not. But James is already speaking again, words stumbling over each other in his rush to get back.

"The first part was good, you know? Great, even. It was any other Christmas in the Potter household - Christmas Eve at home and Christmas Day at the Burrow with the entire Weasley clan. I spent most of my days with Sage, just hanging out in the snow and catching up in person. It was nice.

"And then the accident happened and the next thing you know, Mr Macmillan's taking me to the hospital to visit her and I find out she can't see a damn thing anymore because some _wanker _decided to drive home while he was pissed. She can't see my face, can't see her drawings, can't see my photos so what was the fucking point in taking them? She can't do _anything _she loves. She's lost practically everything that means anything to her.

"It's not fucking fair how bad things happen to good people. And she really is a good person, Alyssa. The best I've ever known. But everything goes wrong for her because of some bullshit circumstances - she can't do magic and she can't see. What _can _she do?

"And then you come along with your bloody definitions and you break the one person that I could rely on and I just - _I hated you so much_ that day. I hated you so much and you didn't give a damn because you never do. You're Alyssa Chamberlain - why would you?"

I don't know what to say. What can you say when James bloody Potter pours his heart out to you _and _insults you in a single breath? When he has tears in his eyes and a lump in his throat because his best friend can't see and there's nothing he can do about it? Now, I might not give a damn about most things, but I know enough to know that I can't fault him for blaming me.

"I didn't exactly know," I say a little defensively.

He smiles sadly. "Well, now you do. So that's that, I suppose."

"But you never answered my first question. Why did you start again?"

When he smiles this time, it's the genuine one that I remember. Not the feeble twitch of his lips he's been sporting for the past month, not the cocky grin in Transfig today, but an amused, almost fond curve of his mouth.

"Sage. She wrote to me and told me not to give up because she - and I quote - "will get better one day and expect a fuckload of photos on my desk.""

I let out a small laugh. "She sounds like a great girl."

"She is. You'd probably get along with her, you know. She likes strong, stubborn girls - something about girl power or whatever."

Despite the fact that the seconds are ticking away on the clock and curfew is fast approaching, we remain on those first couple of steps of the staircase, lost in our thoughts. I guess it's hit me hard how I managed to seriously misjudge James - what I assumed was him being an idiot was him being a good friend. And the reason behind his perpetual sadness is so valid that I can actually understand his behaviour for once.

"So you hate me." I cast the statement into the air and wait for his reply, not necessarily dreading it, but not anticipating something positive either.

"I feel like I should," he replies honestly. "Adelaide told me that you never really thought of us as friends, even though we spent a good chunk of our waking moments with you for nearly five years now. I don't see how I'm supposed to like you after that, especially since you're not exactly the nicest girl I know."

"I hope you know that I'm not going to change for anyone."

He looks at me in amusement. "But you already have changed, Lyssa. You asked about my personal life - you never do that."

I flush under his scrutiny and splutter, "Well, I thought you didn't like to be asked about your family all the time."

"I don't." He allows himself a grin. "And you say you don't class us as friends. How did you notice that, then?"

He's teasing me, I realise. Actually teasing me after he confessed that he hated me a few weeks ago. How on earth does that work?

"Well, you don't class us as friends either," I point.

"No, I said I probably shouldn't. I never said anything about what I'm actually doing."

Far too tired to deal with his cryptic words, I roll my eyes and snap, "Can you just speak plain English or not? Do you hate me or not?"

"Not." At my disbelieving look, he explains, "Freddie mentioned the talk at the Quidditch Pitch. Explained that you cleared most of the air and even apologised for some things. It's a rare enough thing to make him want to do something as stupid as Friday's incident-"

"I actually thought it was good on him for doing that," I cut in pointedly. "I mean, yeah it could've been handled better, but he was trying to make a point-"

"He's a Weasley. Making a point so publicly is suicide. Of course, Freddie forgot that since he feels like shit for kissing you."

"As he should."

"The point is that most things seem to be in order again. Freddie's not moping, Adelaide likes you again, I have my camera back and we're - we're on alright terms. I still class you as a friend in any case. Things are going back to normal."

But the thing is that they're not. At least not the normal we know. It reminds me of an article I once read in a Muggle magazine about something called Todorov's Narrative Theory: an equilibrium is established, broken and then reestablished, except sometimes the equilibrium achieved at the end is a different one. It seems like that's what has happened with us this year.

The old equilibrium contained a Freddie Weasley unaware of boundaries, of a James Potter blissfully ignorant of loss and of an Alyssa Chamberlain who didn't give a damn about anyone. The new one has a Freddie Weasley who knows the bitter taste of regret, a Liv Creevey with a fully-blown crush and an Alyssa Chamberlain who apparently seems to be aware that other people have feelings too.

I'm still undecided on whether that's a good thing.

* * *

**IMPORTANT AUTHOR'S NOTE:**

**1) I realise that the Sage thing has come a bit out of the blue. Would you believe it if I said that this has been planned from the very beginning? Because it honestly has. I just did a shit job of weaving James' storyline in properly e.g. by mentioning Sage earlier and more frequently.**

**2) Someone recently reviewed, asking if I had abandoned this fic. I have updated Dormitory 2.6A a couple of times since CH17 as well as Kaleidoscopic, but made no indication of updating this. That's due to a couple of reasons, actually:**

**\- I like to stay ahead. When it comes to this fic, I like to have a few pre-written chapters to fall back on should I be taking too long with the chapter I'm currently working on. Usually, I don't have to upload a new chapter before I'm done with the one I'm working on. However, I have had to do this ****twice**** recently. Why?**

**\- I have hit the biggest writers' block ever when it comes to this fic. I ****_know _****where I'm going with it - I have every chapter mapped out in its basic skeleton in my notes - so it's not due to that. It's literally just to do with motivation. Which upsets me because this is the fic that truly got me out of my shell. I've been working on this, on and off, since 2014.**

**\- Which is sort of why there's a problem. When I first planned this fic, I had very different ideals from what I do now. I planned several fics in this universe that I never got round to writing and quite frankly, I'm glad. We saw the old vs new conflict when I took time to seriously revamp this fic up. We're seeing it now through my lack of motivation ****_for this fic in particular._**

**\- I don't want to abandon this. I genuinely don't. But I do think a break is in order. I need time away from it. I ****_do _****have another chapter waiting in the wings that I will upload, but after that, I am sorry to report that this will be on hold. Not forever. But for now.**

**\- If you need any more info, feel free to stop by my tumblr ( .com) and leave a message in my ask. Thank you for giving this fic a chance.**

**xo**


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